


Decisions

by mumsasters



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Brothels, Case Fic, Doggy Style, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Sex, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, Mild Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Murder Mystery, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking, Undercover, Wall Sex, paying for sex, smutty mcsmutster time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7114351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumsasters/pseuds/mumsasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack shows up in London.  Sheer smut abounds, of course.</p><p>UPDATE:  This has turned into a case fic.  idk!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going After Phryne

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic. It just came tumbling out. Apparently, I love this show and the Phrack coupling, and want them to have hot sex every day for the rest of their lives...
> 
> Sorry for the ridiculousness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack POV

There really was no decision to make.  From the moment she’d said to come after her, eyes bright and open, smiling while delivering the challenge, he knew there was no alternative.  Later that night, alone in his small stuffy bungalow, he thought about how unbearable his life would have been if he could not follow her.  Even though she had never - not once - entered his house, her absence seemed to affect the entire city.  His sitting room seemed quieter somehow.  The tick of the clock, louder.  

Unbearable.

He didn't go to work that day, the day she left.  He just sat in his house, for hours it seemed, drinking whiskey very slowly.  He thought about the feel of her smooth, wet, red lips against his own.  The taste of her - sweet but also earthy.  The feel of her impossibly smooth hair in his hand.  The smell of her skin was familiar to him now after kissing her once before in the French cafe, but now he couldn’t get it out of his nostrils.  The memory of that kiss and the feeling of their tongues circling roused him to a fever pitch, and he took himself in hand that night more times than he could even admit to himself.  He hoped she hadn’t realized how aroused he was right there out in the open on the airfield.  Or maybe he hoped she had realized it...

_ Unbearable _ .  He’d used that word once before to describe the powerful magnetic force that seemed to pull him towards her in so many ways, so many times.

In the few days after she’d left the continent, what had become a pleasant hum of constant considerations (“I wonder how she’ll like this tie.” “What would she think about this suspect?” “Maybe I’ll go over for a drink tonight.” “I wonder where she is right now.” “I need to remember to ask her why she thinks the victim’s shoe was missing...”) still existed, but became a painful reminder that she wasn’t there.  He thought back to when Rosie had left.  He had been … relieved.  Lonely, yes.  But not lonely for her, just lonely for someone to fill the silence.  Now, his very bones ached when he thought about wanting to see and talk to Phryne, followed by the instant realization that he couldn’t.  It was irritating… and unbearable.  Just as he predicted it would be so many months before.

He tried to think back to a time when thoughts of her did not intrude upon his subconscious on a daily basis (no, hourly...no, more frequently than that).  It was well before he thought she’d been killed in a motor accident.  Was it before arresting Foyle?  Yes, definitely.  Was it before he finally initiated his divorce?  God forgive him, yes.  If he was being completely honest with himself, his inner subconscious had been markedly … affected … by Phryne Fisher from the moment he’d met her, in a bathroom, as she mercilessly critiqued Hugh’s tape outline and rattled off her observations and conclusions on the scene.

No, there was no decision to make.  There were only plans to complete and information to gather.  He contemplated how very much of a dear and cunning ally Prudence Stanley turned out to be when he showed up at her door the day after Phryne left, asking for the address of her sister in England.  Her pleased look turned absolutely giddy when he revealed his intention to follow her.  She would be on the alert for information about Phryne’s whereabouts in London (the Baron had promised to find a townhouse for them during the season), and she would telegraph Jack at the port to let him know where to find them when he arrived in London in 35-40 days.  He would get there only about 20-25 days after Phryne’s 2-3 week plane journey concluded, so surely, she wouldn't have left her mother to go back to Australia just yet.  Also, Prudence promised she would conspire with her sister to ensure that didn't that happen, if it came to that.  He really was warming up to her these days.

The Police Commissioner did not exactly jump for joy when Jack told him of his intention to take an extended vacation, but he really could not deny him for several reasons.  Jack had brought the Sanderson case to light, which essentially gave the Commissioner his current job, and Jack currently held close to a hero status in the police force.  His completion rate was damn near 100% (which, incidentally, was why no one gave him too much trouble over investigating with a female civilian partner, even though he tried to discourage that practice when the press caught wind of it).  Finally, after checking his personnel file, the Commissioner was astounded to learn that Jack had never taken a vacation in the 11 years since he’d come back from the war, aside from the strike, of course.  It really was impossible to refuse the request, and something told the Commissioner that Robinson would have taken the trip, permission or no.

The only thing left was to take a large amount out of the savings he hardly ever touched (he certainly wasn’t wealthy, but he wasn’t spendy either - a major issue with Rosie) to buy passage to England and some new clothes.  He couldn’t show up in London looking like a tired, underpaid police detective.  He purchased a warmer coat for the London fall weather, new suits and ties, and several new tuxedos.  He tried to make sure everything would complement the hat she’d given him - he was definitely taking that.  When picking out his clothes, he couldn’t stop thinking about the night she’d given him that hat, and then grabbed his lapels with both hands.  He wanted her then -needed her.  He imagined gathering her up in his arms and pushing her down on the chaise, but as always, refrained.  His work hadn’t been complete.  He’d been leading her down the path for some time, but he knew her too well.   _ She  _ had to be the one to ask for his love.  And now she had.  Subtext or no, he knew what she was really asking for with her outlandish request.  “Come after me, Jack Robinson.”  She was asking for his love, but she was going to get both that AND him in England.

And here he was.  Staring up in the gathering dusk at a very nicely manicured, starch white townhouse in Belgravia with black iron gates and trim.  Heart pounding in his chest, he realized how incredibly vulnerable his position was.  What if she was already meeting up with “old friends” here in her old city?  What if this incredibly romantic gesture terrified her?  He tried to shove these thoughts away as he cleared his throat, put his head down, and made his way up the stairs to the front door.  He rang the bell, and the door was promptly answered by a butler.

“Ah, hello.  Detective Inspector Jack Robinson to see Miss Fisher.”

The butler eyed his two large suitcases suspiciously.  “Is she expecting you?”

“Well, that’s an extremely good question.  I think she most likely won’t be surprised.”  He put his suitcases down on the front rug, and the butler closed the door behind him.

A bright clear voice rang out from the top of the front stairs.  “JACK!  Won’t be surprised?”  She began positively skipping down the stairs, salmon-pink silk dressing gown dangerously fluttering open around her knees and thighs in the process.  Smiling wide, she said, “I don’t often say this to you, but you couldn’t possibly be more wrong.”  Her cheeks were flushed and makeup washed off, and her pink bare lips reminded him of the night she'd told him it was “never” too late for him to call on her.

_ Jack, be calm.  Her parents are probably in the other room.  Don’t embarrass yourself in front of her mother’s butler. _

He removed his hat and held it in front him, arms down.  How did he normally greet her?  Hug? Handshake?  He didn’t, not really.  She was just always … there.  “Miss Fisher.”

She suddenly stopped, just in front of him, standing too close to him to be at all proper, hesitating, teasing.  “What’s wrong Inspector?  Not enough murders for your taste in Melbourne these days?”

“Actually,” he murmured, “I figured you would have somehow gotten yourself in trouble by now, and I thought surely you’d need my assistance.”  His hands dropped to his sides - still holding his hat in one hand, attempting to give her a coolly sly smile.  Her face was so incredibly close to his.  Her hands were self-consciously checking the silk sash keeping her dressing gown secured.

“Your assistance!  Don’t you mean the other way around?”  She leaned in, even closer.  Her chest lightly pressed against his coat, and then they were lightly pressed together all the way from chest to knees.  He felt a shooting sensation from the pit of his stomach, down.  She looked at him - that look.  Her lips were slightly parted, and mouth curling up on the sides in a very small, teasing, pleased smile.  She looked exactly as she did when he’d pinned his old police badge on her.  He’d wanted her then, and he wanted her now.  But now, after all this time, the time was finally right.

Almost right.  He looked up, to find the butler, but realized he had discreetly vanished.  

“Where are your parents?” he whispered into her ear.

“Out.”  Her face was radiantly wicked with that one uttered word.  He couldn’t believe his ears.  He couldn’t believe his timing.  Something would surely interrupt them - it always did.

It probably only took a second, but felt like an eternity.  He dropped his hat on the floor, leaned down just a bit so that he could sweep her up properly with both arms as tight as he could.  He lifted her up just so that her face was slightly higher than his, and gently pressed his lips to hers and pushed her mouth open.  She tasted like whiskey and heaven.  She responded much more forcefully, devouring him with her tongue, and wrapping her arms around his neck.  She hoisted herself up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist, dressing gown opening wantonly to reveal absolutely no underclothes.  He caught her firm buttocks in each hand through the silk, to hold her in place against him.  He broke away to catch his breath and caught a glimpse of thick curly hair pressed against his rock-hard erection.  She gave a soft little chuckle at his surprised face, and rubbed herself against him even harder.  He didn’t think he could take this sudden rush of blood to his center much longer - his legs felt weak.  So he turned and pinned her up against the front door to help support her weight.  He returned to her mouth, crushing her with another kiss, which inadvertently bumped her head back against the door.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“Hush, I want you to be rough.  Take me upstairs ..  _ now _ .”

Despite the travel fatigue, he summoned the strength in his muscular thighs and carried her up the grand sweeping staircase.  She covered his neck with kisses and sucked and nibbled his earlobe while he concentrated on not dropping her or tripping on the steps.  She pointed to the first room on the left, and he dropped her on the bed, kicking the door shut rather more loudly than he intended.  He peeled off his overcoat and jacket, threw them on the floor, and guiltily remembered his hat and suitcases abandoned on the foyer floor.  He was not an inconsiderate guest, but there was really no stopping now.  He wasn't sure why, but he kneeled in front of her in his shirtsleeves, kissing her bare knees, worshipping her.

“How did you get here?  How did you even know where we were?”  She asked breathlessly.  

He placed his hands on either side of her on the bed and leaned up towards her face.  “I realize this might be surprising, but I am actually a detective.  Sometimes I can even uncover information without your help.”

“Where's the fun in that?”  She raised an eyebrow.

“I see,” he said flirtatiously.  “Well, if you're not having fun, I'll just go then.”  He got to his feet, and before he could stand up all the way, she threw her hands around his neck and pulled him on top of her.  

He kissed her again, so urgently this time.  Their teeth knocked, and he didn't care.  He brought his strong hands up to cup both of her small round breasts at once, and she gasped and writhed her body against his erection.  He was acutely aware of the thinness of her silk dressing gown, and the bare flesh underneath.  Her hands battled their way to his throat to tug his tie loose and start unbuttoning his shirt.  Two buttons seemed to take hours, and he couldn't help himself.  In a surge of adrenaline, with months (well, years) of sexual frustration coming to a head, he stood up and ripped the buttons off first his waistcoat, and then his shirt.  So much for new clothes.  She squealed in delight.

“Inspector, you seem a tad impatient this evening.”

“I've been patient for far too long,” he growled, leaning to crawl back on the bed.

She stuck up her foot and gently placed the arch of her foot against the pulsing heat in the center of his pants, stopping him before he could return to her. 

“All of it.  Off.”

At superhuman speed, he stripped off shoes, socks, pants, and underclothes.  She smiled deliciously as she openly eyed his engorged appendage by the low street light streaming into the room.  It was straight and thick and curved up slightly.  He briefly thought that he never expected to be completely naked less than 5 minutes after arriving.  This turn of events was… well, he had to admit that it was exactly what he crossed half the globe for.

Once again he crawled back up on the bed.  He couldn't stop just wanting to go back for more of her mouth, and he kissed her open mouth until she was panting with need, her lips swollen and hair awry.  He pushed open her dressing gown to reveal her creamy white, perfectly upright breasts.  Once again he leaned forward on his elbows, hot cock buried into the crook between her thigh and groin, and took both breasts in his hands, this time relishing the feeling of skin on skin, and feeling gently for her hard small nipples between his second and third fingers.  She squirmed and gasped.  

“More, Jack, harder. Touch me, I want to feel it.”  He couldn't believe it.  It was hard not to compare everything to Rosie, because she had been his only lover.  Rosie hated when he fondled her chest, and only let him touch her there out of sufferance.  Even then, she was always telling him it was too much, too hard, and to leave her nipples alone.  

He switched his hand position so that both thumbs were squarely on her nipples, and he pushed them in cautiously but firmly.  She moaned…he was on the right track.  He kissed her lips again and began rubbing her nipples in a strong circular motion.  She writhed and bucked her hips up a bit.  He couldn't believe how arousing this was.  He was going to burst before they really even got started.  He wanted to keep pushing her to her limit now, and he took both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and gave a firm pinch.  She cried out, and he stopped, afraid he'd gone too far.  

“Yes,  _ more _ ,” she pleaded, as her hips bucked and fingers dug into his back.

He decided simultaneously that he wanted to tease and torture her (maybe to get back at her for months of teasing him in other ways), and that this was also going to be a good way to make sure she was so ready for him that he wouldn't need to last very long.  He ducked his head down to her left breast and took as much of it as he could in his mouth.  She hissed.  He continued kneading her right breast with considerable force while he sucked and tongued and flicked her left nipple till she was continuously groaning with pleasure.  

He moved his mouth over to pleasure (torture?) her right breast, and now he kneeled up slightly to slide his other hand down between them and through the opening of her dressing gown below its still-tied sash.  First he cupped her whole mound, and pushed his fingers a bit through her damp curls.  Then he started exploring her slippery folds with his fingertips.  Damn it, he couldn't keep the comparison out of his head, but he truly did not remember Rosie ever being this wet.  Well, there were already too many differences from Rosie, not least of which is that Phryne was so …  _ ready _ .  So willing.

She whimpered under his touch.  Keeping in mind her earlier instruction, he started with gentle pressure, but she was already slick and heaving, so he quickly increased pressure as he rhythmically dragged his middle three fingers from her opening up and around her sensitive nub, and then back down again, over and over.  Her nipple was even getting smaller and tighter under his gentle use of teeth, and he thought he could feel her clit swelling bigger against his fingers.  When he thought she was ready, he pushed one finger inside her, leaving the heel of his hand against her mound. She groaned, panting wildly.  Then he pushed a second finger in, and then a third.  

“Yes, Jack, yes.” She said through gritted teeth.  Her hands were moving wildly all over his back, head, hair, chest.  She couldn’t reach down far enough to take him in hand, but that was good.  He wanted to last, and God knew he couldn't possibly be harder.

“Hard…, harder,  _ more _ .”

Heeding her request, he used all the force he dared to finger-fuck her furiously, pumping her clit with his palm, and curving his fingers forward to press the spongy tissue inside. His mouth alternated between breasts.

Her moaning turned into high pitched gasping, and he couldn't help worrying who might be hearing it and when her parents were due back.  She wasn't even touching him, and he wasn't sure how long he would last with the intensely sexy racket she was making.  Suddenly her flat stomach and compact thigh muscles contracted sharply.

“Wait, stop.” She panted, and pushed up so she was in a sitting position, with him kneeling between her thighs.  “I need to feel you.  I don't want to come until you're inside me.”

“Phryne,” he took her face between both palms.  “Are you sure?  We can wait if you want, we don't have to this quickly.”  Somehow he knew that once he'd pushed his way into her, there would be no going back.  _ Who was he kidding, there was no going back the minute he stepped on that ship. _

“Don't be insane, of course I'm sure.  I've never been more sure of anything.”  As those words were slowly sinking in, she took him by the hand and guided him up to the top of the bed, settling him so that he was sitting upright with his back against a pillow propped up in the decorative iron headboard.  He realized his cock and testacles were both almost aching after this extended period of extreme arousal.  His whole pelvic area was pulsing.  

She straddled him on her knees and he noticed how hard she was breathing.  He finally tugged away the sash of her dressing gown, and pushed it down around her shoulders, letting it fall away completely.  He'd seen her naked in a painting, and topless on stage, but this was infinitely better.  Her stomach was smooth, flat, and heaving, and her breasts were red, flushed, sitting perfectly straight with nipples erect, and already with a few marks from his mouth.  He felt a little ashamed, and then quickly proud, remembering how she'd urged him to apply pressure.  

She roughly grabbed his head by the hair and kissed him thoroughly, lowering herself so that the underside of his throbbing shaft pressed into her folds, the underside of his glans softly scraping against her most sensitive part.  She rubbed up and down against him like this several times, letting her dripping wet cunt start to coat him.  

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.  

“Detective Inspector, such a dirty mouth!”  She grinned.

He ran his hands up and down her sides, letting his thumbs roughly graze her nipples with each pass.  She shuddered violently as the head of his cock moved against her clit again and again.  When he could take it no longer, he very gently took her face in his hands again, and stopped moving against her.

“Phryne, please.”  She shifted up to take mercy on him, and pressed the tip of him against her opening.

“Wait…, I … Phryne...,” he was barely whispering, barely gasping out the words.  He searched her eyes and she did the same.  This was stupid, this was not Phryne-style.  This was going to bring things to a screeching halt, but he was compelled… he had to.  He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out, the words he kept bottled up for so many months. 

“I … love you, and I've loved you desperately for some time, and you don't have to feel the same,” he added quickly, nervously glancing away, breaking her gaze, “but I had to tell you before we… before we…” He summoned up his courage and pride.  He had to end this embarrassing little speech with something confident and sure.  “Phryne, I want to make love to you.”

She smiled broadly, still panting, and looking wanton and deliciously unkempt.  “Oh darling of course, I know that.  Thank God, I thought you were going to ask me to stop.”  

_ How does she always know the perfect thing to say to put me at ease _ ?

He almost didn't have time to finish the thought before he felt her wet, hot, tight cunt slide down his cock completely, impaling herself to the hilt.  He let go a deep growling groan.  The first push was slow and gentle, but she took all of him and paused. Then she pushed herself down even further… they fit together perfectly, and it seemed the base of his penis was even curving up at exactly the right place to hit her clit.  He thought this surely must be the case since she moaned and remained pressing hard against him for way too long, repeatedly clenching her muscles up and down his tortured cock.

After what seemed like an eternity, he placed both hands underneath her ass and started moving inside her.  She grasped onto the iron bed for leverage, knelt up to almost let him withdraw from her completely, and then sank back down again.  He felt like he was impossibly deep within her.  He took a breast in his mouth and moved within her again.  After several of these slow, deep thrusts, she gradually increased her rhythm, but still grinding down so hard against the base of his penis, he thought he would lose his mind.

There was only one thing in the world that he wanted more than the simple feeling of her wet sex, and that was to make sure he let her climax before he did.  He gritted his teeth; he had to find the strength.  He had brought her so close before, it couldn't be that far behind.  He once again got a thrill thinking how she craved his strong touch on her breasts, and since he thought her clit was getting a fair amount of stimulation already, he returned his hands to the front of her body.  He massaged and stroked and pinched her breasts and nipples, occasionally letting one hand slip down to circle her clit with a very firm touch when she was sliding up away from him.  He dragged an obscene amount of fluid up from her cunt and placed those slick fingers on her nipples to hear her groan and gasp.  He wanted to hear her scream his name, and he thought she was close.  Her strong, slim arms supported much of her weight as she increased her pace even more to ride him with abandon.  He tried to focus on where he could touch her, to not think about his cock buried inside her, and how utterly, devastatingly pleasurable it was for her to be using him in this way.  He sucked up one of her breasts again, applying very strong pressure to her nipple with his tongue, while his teeth pretty much bit slightly down around almost her whole breast.  She was so close to him and it was so intimate this way.  He'd never had a woman on top of him before.

He was trying to pay attention to everything he did and her reaction to it.  She loved the strong breast play, but she also seemed to respond very much to his fingers on the top of her sex, so he moved to keep one hand down there, circling her swollen nub with as much of his thumb as he could shove down there without pushing himself outside of her.  

He put his other hand on her back and down to support her ass, thinking maybe he could slow her down if he thought he was going to come.  While groping to hold on, his long middle finger, still dripping from her juices, pressed in on her other opening, and he immediately felt both her buttocks clench around his finger and her internal muscles clench incredibly strongly around his cock.  He thought for a second that she was unpleasantly surprised by his slip, but then she threw her head back and made a sound that was barely human.  He trusted his instincts and pushed the finger a little deeper in her ass. It was so wrong, and so filthy, violating her this way, but he felt pretty sure that she loved it.  She was almost shrieking now with every thrust.

Her breast was in his mouth, his tongue thrashing her nipple, his hand moved hard at a frantic pace against her clit, his other hand pressed on her bouncing buttocks with his middle finger buried an inch deep in her ass, and most relentlessly, his cock plunged in and out of her with reckless abandon, while she held onto the bed and rode him.  He started counting in his head… He just… had… to wait… a little … longer.  

“Jaaaaack!”  With a high-pitched wail, and maybe a sob, she came crashing down against him.  He felt her jerking, rolling waves travel up and down his length, so he concentrated on slowing and softening his touch on her clit, releasing his mouth to very gently lick her nipple, and slowly removing his finger from her unspeakable parts.  He brought her down slowly and gently, extending her orgasm for as long as possible.  She whimpered and moaned and sighed against his hair, and finally fell limp against him.

He removed his erection with much reluctance, and they both lay down facing each other on the bed.  He hadn't let go, and while he was incredibly proud of himself, his need was becoming dizzying.  He continued very, very softly stroking her folds, not letting her come down all the way.  

“I'll be ready again in a minute,” she panted.  “You need to…”  She took him in her hand and began to work up and down, making sure he didn't lose his erection (however unlikely that seemed to him.)

“Hush, don't worry, I know, I will.”

“I wanted to finish together.  I was trying to wait, but I couldn't.  That was just too incredible.”

“I wanted you to come first.  I wanted to tend to all your needs.  I wanted to watch you, and to bring you up and back down with my mouth and my cock and my hands.”  He was murmuring these dirty words against her ear while he continued to stroke her, his touch now getting a bit more firm.  He knew what his deep voice did to her.

“Well, Inspector, usually I get exactly what I want in bed, but in this case, I'm glad I made an exception.”

“You didn't want me in your bed?” he teased.

“No my love, I mean I wanted you to finish with me.”  She smiled easily at first, and then she must have realized what she said, as her grasp on him nervously tightened and quickened and she dropped his gaze.

He pretended he didn't hear, and continued to mumble deep sounds into her ear, stroking her surely and firmly in his talented hands, steadily increasing his pace.  “You are the sexiest, most infuriating, most gorgeous woman I have ever known.  I have wanted to have my way with you for so long, it should be criminal.  I should arrest you for what you do to me.  Oh wait, I did arrest you, and you kicked me, and it still made me so hot under the collar that I re-lived that moment for weeks while I took myself in hand.  I'm not nearly done with you.  You're going to be begging me to fuck you over and over until you are finally begging me to let you rest before this night is through.”  His hand was getting insistent, and she was squirming and writhing against him.

“Jack,” she rolled onto her back and pulled him over between her thighs.

“Jack, please,” he didn't need to be asked twice.  He lined up and slid smoothly inside.  Finally in control, and not able to contain himself, he started screwing her with a steady, sure pace.  This was too comfortable, too easy, after about 5 thrusts he thought he would give way.  He withdrew (she cursed), and he grabbed her beneath the thighs, dragging her across to the side of the bed.  He stood up, and pulled her even farther to the edge of the bed, hooking her ankles on his shoulders, enjoying the wanton look of her laid out naked on her back before him.  Once again, he lined up and sank incredibly deep within her.  She moaned loudly.  He thought standing would just give him a few more minutes of the most intense pleasure he'd ever known.  He again started thrusting with a steady pace.  She began playing with her breasts with both hands, squeezing them together, and pinching her nipples while he watched.  They both looked into each other's eyes with blazing intensity while he steadily moved in and out, in and out.  His thumb gently circled her clit.

“Jack,” it was a whisper this time, a small voice. “Harder.  Fuck me harder, deeper, give me more.” 

He couldn't stand it much longer.  He withdrew almost completely from her, and slammed back into her, his balls slapping hard against her tight asscheeks.  She cried out.  He pulled back and fucked her with all of his might, again and again and again.  Her breasts bounced with every powerful stroke.  He used his thumb to press with incredible force against her clit.  He hoped she would tell him if he hurt her, but again, from her bucking and writhing and pawing her breasts, it seemed she was enjoying this immensely.  

“JACK, HARDER!”

His legs started to go numb, and a powerful throbbing seemed to start in his quadricep muscles and then seize his balls.  He felt her orgasm start to clench and vibrate against his cock as his own, earth-shattering climax moved from his legs to his balls up to somewhere in his gut, and then with a flooding rush of sensation, he yelled out too loudly as it overtook his cock and his whole body and being.  He slowed his pace as he dumped wave after wave after wave of himself into her swollen, wet, throbbing cunt.

After quite some time, they were settled on the bed, naked and spooning, with her ass against his half-limp cock, his arms firm around her body over her breasts.

“That was better than anything I've been imaging after all these months,” he whispered.

“Agreed.”

“Can I ask you, how can you take being touched so roughly?  I don't want to hurt you.  Does it hurt?  I've left very clear tooth marks on you, and it looks like you're going to be bruised all over.  No one has ever wanted me to touch them like that before.”

“I don't always like it rough, and I don't think I've ever needed it to be  _ that _ forceful before.  Sometimes I'll need you to be gentle.  It just depends on my level of desire, and I've also had some whiskey tonight before you got here.”

“So… your desire for me was… fairly high?”

“At an unprecedented peak,” she grinned.  “Tell me, Inspector, was it satisfying to manhandle me until I came twice?”

“Uhhhhh, I'll have to check my notes, but I believe… Yes, I do believe I am temporarily quite sated, but you should remember my attempts to woo you with Shakespeare, Miss Fisher.  When it comes to you, I'll never be fully satisfied.”

She dropped a hand behind her and ran the back of her index finger across his length, which had really never fully deflated, and was now starting miraculously to perk up a bit.  “I see.”  He felt like an adolescent.  He had the brief flashing thought that, sexually speaking, he basically  _ was _ an adolescent, discovering for the first time how amazing it was to be with a woman who openly craved his body and took pleasure in him.

“You know, there are more things we can do when we are feeling that needy.  How do you feel about a nice friendly round of spanking for when I've been a very, very bad girl?”  The look in her eyes was wickedness itself.

“Oh, um,” shifting uncomfortably, “actually I don't know.  I don't think I could actually hit you.”

“Says the man who inserted a finger up my ass on our first date.”  She giggled uproariously.

He couldn't help chuckling.  “That's different. It was an accident.”

“Quite a happy one.”

“You  _ are _ a very bad girl.”  He began gently stroking her flat belly.  “Which reminds me, where are your parents?  Will they be returning soon?”

“Oh no, not for several days.  They returned to the country to attend a wedding of some neighbor’s daughter I didn't remember.  I probably should have gone, but I had a very strange feeling that I should stay in London.”  

He whispered into her ear, "That was an excellent decision."


	2. Loving Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just pretty much more of the same... Phryne POV.

She turned her head and looked at him solemnly, feeling his strong but dexterous hands brush lazy circles across her belly, thinking about the turn of events this represented for her life.  Practicalities, however, quickly sprang to mind.  “Good lord, I haven't even asked you if you wanted anything to eat or drink.  You must be famished.”

“To be honest, that's the last thing on my mind right now.”  His belly stroking gave way to tentative soft explorations of her breasts.  She shuddered a bit under her touch.  He traced the outline his teeth had made.  “Do they hurt?”

“Not really, but they’re tender.  That feels good.  Don't stop.”  He pulled her toward him onto her back, and began to slowly, gently lick first one breast, then the other.  She thought he meant to soothe her instead of arouse her, but soon her breathing hitched and became heavier, and she was kneading her fingers through his scalp.  He gave his attentions to her raw breasts for some time until she was writhing again underneath him, and eventually she placed one hand on her own mound.  He quickly pushed it away.

“There will be no need for that, Miss Fisher. I’m getting there.”  His voice was stern and scolding.  It made her squirm with delight, and then she took her hands and pushed his head downward.  

“Jack, please.”  She wondered how many times she would say those words tonight.  She shuddered when she thought of his voice telling her she was going to beg him over and over.  He took his sweet time using lips and tongue and teeth to cover her belly, his fingers massaging her rear, wrenching sensations out of her that she never really gave herself the time to experience with one of her normal, casual lovers.

With that thought came a crash of realizations.  

_ Jack is an incredible lover, possibly the best I've ever had -what a stroke of luck that is!  He seems to know exactly what I want all the time.  I wonder how many women he's had, surely more than one.  I usually don't care about the past history of my lovers… But this is certainly no ordinary casual lover.  There's nothing casual at all about Jack.  He warned me himself he was a serious man before he waltzed the reason right out of me(or into me?) _

She was ripped out of her reverie by the sizzling feeling of his pointed tongue lightly flicking her clit.  She gasped loudly, and realized he'd moved all the way down to settle himself between her thighs.  She opened her thighs as wide as she could, spreading her lips open, beckoning him to enter.  He used his hands to spread her folds even more, pulling the skin taught, exposing her nerve-endings to the fullest extent possible.  He began using the full broad flat top of his tongue to begin at her opening and slowly, fully lick her up to her clit, pause circling her clit, and then use the back of his tongue to work his way back down.  As with his fingers, he repeated this motion over and over and over until her loud continuous moaning told him to push her further.  He moved down to fuck her with his tongue, in and out, while his nose bumped her clit, and she frantically dragged her fingers through his hair.  

“I'm close,” she started pulling him up, “do you want to…”

“No,” he said, remaining in place.  He slowly, gently inserted two fingers into her.  Just barely moving them up and down (not all the way in and out), and mostly pushing and massaging the sweet, now very tender spot at the front of her belly.  As he did that, he opened his whole mouth over her clit, and began lightly sucking and manipulating her entire being with his tongue.  Every touch, every stroke, every lick was impossibly gentle, but sure and insistent.  Seconds into this combination, she felt powerful waves starting in her thighs.  She reached up to gently take her nipples in her hands, and let the tension in her groin build and build and build.  She tried to go over the edge, but her body tightened and coiled further and harder than she felt possible, she had to release…..release………. She didn't know when she stopped breathing, but she needed oxygen.  This tension couldn't last.  She clenched her abs so tightly, curling up on her elbows, nipples still in hand, catching a glimpse of Jack’s face buried in her cunt, fingers magically touching everywhere inside, and she finally felt herself fall over the edge with a scream.  It could have been his name, but she wasn't sure.  The contractions of her orgasm were so hard, they bordered on painful.  He did not release his gentle motions and pressure until she had felt wave after wave after wave of powerful pleasure, and then just as she was getting too tender, he eased up and brought his mouth and fingers to stillness. Extremely slowly, he applied faint, almost non-existent strokes with his fingers and tongue that gave her an aftershock with each motion.

She finally pulled him up, again facing him, both laying on their sides.  She put her arms around his neck and pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead, enfolding his face into her heaving chest.

“You know, I spoke impetuously, without thinking about you, and your job, and how expensive it must have been to come here.  You didn't have to make the trip, I would have come home to you soon enough.  I actually sent you a letter along those lines, but you had probably already left now that I think about it.”

“Even poor policemen can afford some things, Miss Fisher, it wasn't a problem.  And my job is fine… I needed a break.  Don't worry, you can still use me for my inside police information.”  His face was more teasing, she knew he didn't mean it.”

“Don't be like that!” she said smiling, inhaling the scent of his soft, mussed hair.  “So when did you decide to come to England?  Right away, or did you have to think about it for a few days?”

“Phryne, there was no decision.  I’ve known for some time that I would follow you to the ends of the Earth if you'd let me.”

“When?” her eyes sparkled with delight and anticipation.  

“Hmmm,” he thought for a long time, eyes skyward.  “The day we found Jane.”

“I remember,” she smiled, thinking back.  “That was a long time ago!  I think I rather mercilessly laid it on thick in a certain coach car.  I believe you called my skills ‘self-styled and entirely untrained.’  You were in quite a state.”

“That wasn't the moment, but yes, well, your ability to get hired on all my murder investigations was… distracting, to say the least.  As was your insistence on flirting with me constantly.”

“Hah!” She laughed.  “But it was so easy to make you squirm.  I simply couldn't resist.  I wish you could have seen the look on your face that day on the floor of that coach car.  I couldn't decide if you wanted to slap me or have me right there on top of the crime scene.”

“Both, actually, and I'm sure it was very amusing for you.  But no, Miss Fisher, since you've asked, I think the moment of no return was seeing you drive off with Jane and the victim’s daughter.”

“Really?”

“I knew I was in trouble then.  In more ways than one.”  He paused then and his face grew serious.  “But I think I decided to attempt to slowly win you, the day you left me in the street and went to dinner with Lin.”

She giggled.  “Oh my, jealous Jack.  I like him.”

They were both lying side by side, hands under their heads, watching each other and grinning.  She thought this level of real intimacy… with someone she … loved… would be heavy and suffocating.  But on the contrary, she felt like a 100-pound weight had been lifted from her.  She had never felt so carefree and easy and absolutely alive.  All the words so carefully unspoken for all these months could now be spoken.

He turned the tables quickly and skillfully, never pushing her too far.  “So, when did you reach the point where you … wanted to be followed?”

“Well,” she thought carefully.  “I think there are two… or maybe three answers to that question.  I didn't know I would actually ask you to follow me here until it came spilling out of my mouth.  One of my better ideas, if I do say so myself.”  She gave him a self-satisfied smile.  “I realized how devastating it was to be apart from you when you thought I'd been killed instead of Gertie, especially when you told me at the university to leave you be.  Bravo, Jack, that was a master stroke of genius if it was part of some plan to get here.”

“You know it wasn't.  I mean, I wanted to be here, but that was a stupid attempt at self-preservation, truly.”  He paused, waiting.  “And the third?”

Her voice dropped.  “Well, that night…”  His face seemed to show understanding.  “You know the night when you came over very late?”

“When you told me it was never too late?”

“Yes.  When you left me that night, I knew.”

He didn't ask her what she knew, and she was grateful.  She didn't think she needed to say it, and besides, the trite word “love” didn't really seem adequate for her gut-wrenching, soaring, roiling emotions of that night.  Still, she considered that “love” didn't sound trite at all when it came out of Jack’s mouth in the heat of passion. 

“Do you think this will be difficult?”  He changed the subject slightly, looking at her in earnest as he asked.  “Being partners in our work, and friends, and lovers?  I think lately you've been my closest friend, Phryne, and I have to say I don't want to lose that.”

So many of those admissions seeped into her awareness.  He really thought of her as his partner, and closest friend.  “Nothing that matters is easy,” she smiled.  “That's actually one of my father’s expressions.  He wasn't allll bad when I was growing up, I guess.”

He seemed satisfied with that answer, but quickly furrowed his brow again.  “Miss Fisher, I have more questions.”  He seemed sweetly nervous.

“Ask away Inspector.  Please proceed to inspect me quite thoroughly.”  She wanted to be open with him; she couldn't imagine him being anything other than open with her.

“Well, I should have asked before.  But, what we just did, is … did you… were there any … precautions in place?”  

“Oh, don't worry.  It is a very good day of the month today.  No precautions necessary.  I'm very careful when it comes to that.”

“I see.”

“That one was easy.  Hit me again, didn't you say there were more?”

“Well, there's really only one more, and it's a big one.”  He looked so worried, she had to jump in.

“Hmmm, let me guess.  Actually!  How about this!  If I guess the question, you have to come with me to the Opera tomorrow.  I have tickets to La Traviata.”

“And if you're wrong?”

“Toss the tickets, we’ll go see a proper English Premier League match instead.  The butler here has an inside track on seats.”

“High stakes.  Although I figure in the absence of the wager, you would have asked me to go with you to the Opera regardless?”

“Jack, stop being so practical.”

“All right Miss Fisher, it's a bet.”

“Have you seen any Verdi operas?  I think you’ll like it.”

“Miss Fisher, the question.”

“Oh all right you want to know if I'll stop… having dalliances with old friends.”

“Well, not in so many words, but it was along those lines.  And don't forget about new friends.”

“Yes, I've been thinking about this.”

“You know I don't want to change you.  But there are things about myself that I can't change as well.  I don't know how I'll cope with that situation.  My prior record shows…  a tendency to be … upset when I find you're sleeping with another man.  And that was before I had any right to feel that way at all.”

“Yes, well, the truth is, I haven't really been interested in anyone else for quite some time.”

“What about Compton?”

“That really wasn't as bad as it looked.  We were just talking about old times.  And maybe just kissing a little bit, but it was… boring.  We had a few adventures together many years ago, but he doesn't really know me, and I don't really know him.  I certainly wasn't planning to let things go much farther.  In fact, when you two showed up, I'd been planning how I could escape the barracks without getting him in trouble.”

“And Guido?”

“How did you know about that?”  He just looked at her.  “That was positively nothing.  He wanted me, sure, but he cooked for me and kissed me a few times, and then I made my exit.”  She chuckled.  “He told me, ‘whoever he is, tell him he's a lucky man.’  So I guess I'm telling you now.

“The truth is, Jack, that right now I'm only interested in … us… in you.  I don't know if that will last forever, but it has been true for some time now, even before I admitted it to myself.  What's more, I don't think I've ever felt so strongly about anyone else, so maybe this is it.  Maybe this is the type of thing that lasts forever...like my parents.  With all they've been through, they really do love each other.”

“As do mine.”

“I fought the knowledge of my feelings for you for some time, but lately, I am not certain why I am clinging onto my sacred sexual independence.  If my sexual freedom is only keeping me from the person … I … love, then why do I insist on maintaining it?”

Jack absorbed her tumble of thoughts with a stone face.  “If you thought you wanted to be intimate with another man, can you please just tell me, so I don't have to catch you in the act, or hear it from the constables down at the station?  I'm not saying whether or not we could continue our … arrangement… but I would ask that, no matter what, you give me the courtesy of telling me.”

She put her palm on his cheek.  “Jack, yes, of course.”  She kissed him slowly, sweetly, stopped, looked into his eyes, and realized once again how she never imagined she could be attracted to someone so kind, understanding, loyal, and generally  _ good _ .  In her experience, men were either sexy or kind; interesting or sweet; rogues or gentlemen.  How could he be such a good person and have her fantasizing about him day and night?  How could he be so kind and loyal, and yet be capable of confidently taking control of her body and bringing her to climax over and over.

Something stirred in her again, and she leaned in to kiss him fully, mouth open, hands running down his chest, circling his nipples, running her fingers across his defined abdominal muscles.  She inched lower to suck and nibble on his neck and earlobe; his breathing was heavy.  Then, she went a bit lower so she could reach to lightly brush the back of her fingers first against his hard thighs, then inward to feel for him.  She was pleasantly surprised to find him ready for her again, and she lightly took the length of him in her two hands, gently moving up and down on the velvety smooth skin.  He gasped.

“You do have a very nice one, Jack.  I love how thick and straight it is.”  She continued whispering in his ear as she stroked him.  “It fills me up, and stretches me a bit, and definitely tends to hit all the right places in the right way.  You are just right for me.”

He moaned as she circled the underside of his ridge, and then slowly ran a finger up and across the head, over his slit.  Drops of fluid were escaping him, and she pushed the droplets all around the head of his cock.  She drank in the tortured look on his face, eyes squinted, mouth slightly open.  She wanted to drive him crazy. She slid down all the way to face his lap, then grabbed his thighs, pushed him on his back, and nestled in between his legs.  Pursing her lips, she gave the tip a full wet kiss, while still working her hands down his shaft with slight pressure.  He gave a low, long growl.  She then lowered her hands, flattened them, and placed them on his entire groin so that the heels of her hands gently covered his balls, her fingers covered his hair, and his erect cock sprang up out of the triangle created by her thumbs.  She leaned further down to begin a slow tracing around the base with her tongue, slowly working her way around and around and up toward the head, covering every inch of his shaft with her cool wet saliva, still gently cupping his balls with her hands.  When she reached the tip, she increased her pace and circled the ridge and head of his cock over and over with her outstretched, flattened tongue.  She lifted her hands and placed both firmly around his shaft, covering him from the base to just below the tip.  Just as she dipped to take his head in her mouth, she looked up and caught his eyes as he watched her.  She rolled the head around with her tongue inside her mouth, first slowly, and then with more pressure.  Her hands worked him up and down with considerable pressure, still wet from the copious amount of saliva she’d left.  Slowly she inched down, taking more and more of him in her mouth.  Once she felt him at the back her throat, she breathed in through her nose and took him a little farther, working him with her tongue all the way.  She moaned a bit to let him feel the vibration, and swallowed to relax and let him slide even further down.  Jack’s thighs clenched, and she started bobbing her head up and down, slowly at first, and then steadily building into a strong, sure pace, sucking, tongue working frantically, one hand underneath him clenching an asscheek for leverage, and the other hand gently massaging his scrotum, bumping and rubbing against the sensitive patch of skin just underneath.  She looked up again and found him staring at her, mouth open, eyes half closed, and their eyes locked while she moved up and down, up and down, over and over and over.  She could tell from his hands clutching her hair and wild gasping that he was close.  Although she did be sure to appreciate that not once did he thrust up into her throat or push her head down:  a gentleman even at the height of his ecstasy.  Suddenly, he sat up, reached down, and pulled her up.  

“What are you doing?  You were just about to…”

“No, not like that.”

“YES like that, that's the point!”

“No.”

She couldn’t help herself.  How dare he try to take control and deny himself when she wanted to have him climax in her mouth.  “Well, fine then, you can just suffer.  No other options are open to you at this time.  You can finish like that or not at all.”

Jack was still heaving, and now squirmed and looked maddened.  His face was absolutely red.  

“Fine.”  He lifted her up by the waist and dragged her from between his legs up to sit next to his side, and then spun her around, and lay back down so that she was sitting up with her back turned to his head.  “Fine, but sit here.”

She didn't know where he was going with this. But this position worked just as well as the other.  She leaned down and took him back in her mouth, upside down this time, with the curve of his cock naturally bending down her throat even more comfortably than before.  She couldn't look at his face this way, but maybe that made him uncomfortable.  After a few strokes, as she was lifting her head up, she gasped as he grabbed her by the thighs and lifted her torso up over him, holding her up by her hips.  She let her knees down over his shoulders and stared down at his face, through her open legs.  She saw how close his face was to her sex, and she realized where this was going.  

“Fine Miss Fisher, you can insist on your way, but I will still find a way to have mine as well.”

He lowered her cunt to his face, and she realized how strong his arms must be.  She sucked his cock back up into her mouth and tried to find her former rhythm, but the pleasant wet licking quickly turned into a warm burning between her legs and creeping up into her abdomen.  It was so distracting, she was sure she was not really giving the same steady pressure on his cock that she was giving before.  He started sucking her in more earnest, tongue thrashing her clit, and she stopped for a minute to enjoy the sensation.   _ Damn him!   _ She would never get him off like this, plus her legs were getting woozy, and his ministrations to her clit were desperately making her feel empty and wanting him inside her.  

“DAMN IT!”

“Is that you calling ‘uncle,’ Miss Fisher?”

“Yes, Jack, please.”

With incredibly sexy strength, he lifted her to the side over his head, put her on her knees, sat up, and kneeled up behind her on the bed, facing the foot of the bed.  She still had both hands flat on the bed, ass in the air.  He reached around her and pulled her up so they were both kneeling upright, his wet erection pushing against her buttock.  He grabbed a breast with one hand, and reached down to massage her sex with the other.  She reached up behind her to run her fingers through his hair.  Opening her eyes, she realized they were at a slight angle on the bed, and square in front of a mirror.  He was staring at the wanton picture she made, legs spread, mouth open, arms up, head back.  

“Please what?” He demanded, his voice deep and husky in her ear.

“Please…” She gasped.

“Say it.”

She looked in the mirror, caught his eye and grinned lasciviously.

“Please, fuck me.”  He reached down to spread her legs wider, lowering her for a better angle.  She felt his cock lined up and pressed against her sore opening.  Then his hands went back up to her belly, rubbing all over her midsection and breasts before one returned to her throbbing wet center.  He was looking at her body the whole time in the mirror, but now he caught her eyes again.  His brow looked furrowed in concentration, in tension.  He looked stern, he looked in control.

“Say it again,” he ordered, growling.

She turned her head to speak to him, not the mirror, summoned her most sultry voice, and pleaded, “Detective Inspector, if you don't fuck me right now, so help me God…”

She felt him push into her finally.  She was sore, and he somehow knew to be gentle. This angle left him only with a shallow entry, and his movements in her were short and slow.  He left soft kisses on her neck and sucked her earlobes.  For leverage, his strong right arm snaked across her belly, hand on her left breast, fingers softly massaging her nipple.  Four long flattened fingers of his left hand slowly circled her lips, clit, and entire mound in broad strokes.  It felt impossibly good.  There was nothing for her to do with her hands, except reach back wildly for his hair, or reach around back for his back and butt.  

“Jack, I'm going to come.”

“Not yet.”  He stopped his hands, and she cried out with disappointment and wanting.  He pushed her back down so that she was on all fours, on her elbows, ass high in the air.  At this angle, he kept his thrusting soft, but could go much deeper.  She looked at him in the mirror… she could see his body now, and his eyes were closed.  She drank in the sight of him:  arm, chest, and ab muscles all clenched and working to bring them both to climax.  His hair was in his face, and he looked incredibly sexy.  She could feel the instant a soft layer of perspiration broke out over his whole body… everywhere their skin touched.  This was too much, she wanted to touch herself and finish it, but was trying her best to wait. She closed her eyes, the picture they made was too hot, too much.

Suddenly, he reached around and palmed her clit again.  “Now,” he said, “come for me Phryne.”

As he was saying it, her mind recoiled, annoyed.  She did not come on command, and when someone tried to do that, it usually killed the moment.  

“Now,” he ordered in her ear, never letting his fingers stop their work, bringing the climax out of her body.  Unbelievably, her body betrayed her and deep powerful vibrations answered his fingers and cock and his command.  She screamed as the contractions crashed down, rendering her helpless underneath him.  As she was just starting to come down, she heard him gasp and moan with his orgasm.  His pace slowed, and she felt the hot rush of his fluid inside her.  He fell down partly on top of her, and stayed like that breathing heavily.

“Am I too heavy?”  

“No.”

They breathed like that for a long time.

“Inspector, you're going to kill me.  I think four times is a record.”

He chuckled.  “I very much hope it is, Miss Fisher.”

“Don't be cross with me for saying this, but I wasn't expecting you to be… so skilled.”

“Doubtless you've encountered many more skilled than me.”  She wished she could see his face, but didn't want to disturb him laying comfortably on top of her.

“Actually… I'm not sure.  It's far too soon to tell, but you are certainly in the running for the top position.”

“Really?” He paused, cautious.  “Do you say that to everyone.”

“Jack!  Of course not, I mean it.  I brought this up!  You are very good at this.  I didn't peg you as having had many lovers.  How many have you had other than Rosie?”

“Miss Fisher, this is not a fair line of inquiry.  I'll only tell you if you can tell me.”  

She paused, and squirmed under him to turn over.  He leaned up to let her turn, but remained half-perched on the side of her.  She had an urge to play her normal games: to agree and then let him say first before telling him she had no idea.

“Well, I can't, because I don't know.  But it's still not fair to  _ not _ tell me.  You know quite a bit of my history, and I'll tell you anything else you want to know.  But I still know next to nothing about yours.”

He signed, “Well, that's not true.  You actually know everything.  I was married for 16 years.  Other than that, there's nothing to tell.”  He broke her gaze and looked away, face flushed, looking embarrassed.

“Well there's absolutely nothing shameful about that.” She paused, thinking.  “What about Concetta?”

“No.  Although I certainly wanted you to think so.”  He smiled.

“Well, you and Rosie must have had a good love life at least at some point!”

He looked solemn, “I wouldn't go that far.”

She just looked at him quietly, sadness starting to creep into her eyes.  

“She didn't … seem to like having sex very much.  She didn't … respond, didn't take pleasure in it.  She was a dutiful wife at first, but it quickly got to the point where it wasn't much fun for me.  It … hurt for her.  And then when I came back from the war, she was consumed with having a baby.  She would take her temperature all the time, and chart her months, and let me know the exact days we needed to be together.  But even then, she wanted me to just finish as soon as possible so I wouldn't make her sore.  It was a means to an end, to be sure.”

“But, so how do you know where to touch me, and how to drive me crazy?”

“Well, I used to read things, even before when I was married, to try to figure out how to make things better for her.  They never really worked for her, and I honestly thought it might have been me.  I was … nervous, to say the least, about being with you.  But of course, I had plenty of time to imagine what I would do to you.”  He smiled wickedly.  “And…, you seemed to … respond very well.”  

“You are so attentive.  It's amazing, you seem to always know exactly what I want.”

“It helps that you’re very expressive. I can tell if something is good or bad just by how you move or breathe,” he chuckled, “and that's not just in bed.  I think I just know you very well.  It helps.”

“I don't think I've ever slept with a man that has known me as well as you.”

His head was resting on her neck, and she was playing with his hair.  Both their arms around each other.

“Soooo, was this the first time you brought a woman to orgasm?”

It took a while for him to answer.  “Yes.”

“Well, you were certainly an over-achiever tonight.  And was it the first time a woman took you in her mouth?”

Much quicker to respond this time:  “Yes, definitely.  That was incredible.”

“So tonight was a crash course, and I didn't even know it.  Inspector, you are still full of surprises, even after all this time.”  He raised his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Is your offer for food still open?”

“Of course,” she sat up.  “I'll be back.”  She grabbed her dressing gown, and went down to ask the butler for a few sandwiches, and for someone to bring Jack’s luggage to her room.  She ignored the scandalized look on the butler’s face.  He was certainly no Mr. Butler.  She thought briefly about how happy Mr. Butler always seemed when Jack came over at home.  Well, he would find out about them soon enough.  She grabbed Jack’s hat -the one she'd bought- and put it on as she tripped back up the stairs.  

Back in her room, she noticed Jack had pulled on his shirt (minus buttons), but was still lying spent on the bed.  She went over to the dresser to pour two whiskeys, handed one to Jack and sat back next to him on the bed.  He rolled over to lean up and take the glass.  

“Well Miss Fisher,” he said holding out his glass, “to changing the location of our nightcaps.”

“Yes,” she said, “to London.  Seat of the British Empire.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of … your bed.”  He gave her a small sly smile.

“To bed.”  She clinked his outstretched glass, and he took a deep swig.  “To our bed, at least as long as we’re in this house.  There aren't any other guest rooms.”

He almost spit it out.  “Oh no, I couldn't possibly.  What will your parents say?  I'll get a room somewhere else.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.  I don't care what they say.  Besides, they gave up years ago on the idea of making me into a virtuous young lady looking for an advantageous marriage. I think they might actually be happy I finally brought a man home.”  

There was a knock on the door, and Jack pulled the bedcover over his lap just before the butler came in with a tray, followed by a footman lugging the suitcases.  

“Thank you Hudson.  Can you please see if someone can mend that waistcoat,” she pointed on the floor, “and this shirt?”  She started pulling the shirt off Jack's shoulders.

“Christ, Phryne,” he mumbled as he shrugged off the shirt.  The butler’s face remained perfectly serene, but the footman’s eyes could not have gotten any wider.  “You're going to be the death of me,” he said after they'd gone.  

“Perhaps, but you won't die hungry.  Ham, cheese, and mustard-pickle!”

“My favorite.  How did you know to have this on hand?”

She gave him a knowing look.  She knew he'd decide to come.  She hadn't doubted it for a second.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Waking up to Phryne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, then just a little fluff, and then the silliness begins. Jack POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the way Phryne teases Jack, and he withstands it so well ... one of my favorite parts of the show.

Sleep never felt so good.  They slept naked, arms wrapped around each other, with his face lightly touching her fringed bangs, and hers in the hollow of his neck. At around daybreak, she stirred, and he thought she was trying to wake him.  Her arms clasped him tighter, and her hips started moving a bit.  Then she started saying “Jaaaaa, jck, jck,” all remaining firmly asleep.  

_ I'd think this was funny if I wasn't so damn aroused right now.   _

He stroked her hair and lightly kissed her forehead, letting her enjoy the dream for a few moments.  Her nocturnal activities seemed to intensify, and he could feel her legs clench around him.  Her eyes opened with a faint look of frustration on her face, then she lightly rubbed his skin under her fingers, and looked up into his eyes, remembering his presence.

She didn't say a thing, just moved her hand down to see if he was ready for her.

_ So ready.  Again. _

Then she climbed over him, rubbed her wetness against him just for a few strokes, and then gently and softly lowered herself onto him.  She lowered her chest to touch his, so they were fully embracing, skin to skin, with his cock buried deep in her belly.  He folded her up in his arms and thanked God for this woman.

After enough time his gut started to burn.  She pressed down onto him with more pressure, just slightly pushing in over and over, never really letting him slide up and down within her.  At first he thought he'd have to start thrusting into her, but he resisted the temptation, and soon the most incredible warmth and tingling spread over his entire core, out to his fingers and down to his feet.  The tiny movements were exquisitely intense.  He turned his head and kissed her slowly, on the lips with mouths closed.  Finally, she started to rotate her hips slightly to create a circular movement with their joined bodies, all while pulsing down on the base of his cock as far as she could.  After only a few minutes of this, her whole body tensed, and she snaked one hand between them, gave herself one quick touch, and set off a strong but serene climax, all without making a sound, other than her breath.  He felt her clench around him and then release, with her strong, long squeezing sensations massaging his cock.  He gripped her as tight as he could to him, crushing her to his chest, and thrusted up once into her to reach his own height.  They both stayed like that for a long time, her soft more faint waves coming back over and over to trigger his own shudderings.

She opened her eyes.  “Inspector, I am absolutely ravaged.  We must get out of this bed this instant, or I think you're going to love me to death.”

“Pardon my saying so, Miss Fisher, but I didn't have a whole lot to do with that little performance just now.”

She laughed, “Well, you were integral to its production.  And you were such a good sport to stay so restrained like that, that was divine.”

“I've had a lot of practice with restraint.”

She gave him a knowing look, and got up to run a bath and pick out some clothes.

“Well, Jack, you're on holiday.  What’s your heart’s desire?  The Big Smoke is your oyster today.”

Once dressed, they left to wander Green Park, linger by the gates to Buckingham Palace, and stroll all the way to the Thames.  It was a beautiful late fall day, and they paused in tea houses, sat on park benches to steal some kisses, and mostly walked with Phryne’s hand tucked tightly around his bicep.  

“So Miss Fisher, who is the dashing young thing you were  _ going _ to take to the Opera tonight?”

“Ugh, an eager young gentleman who has asked me to dine with him at his mother’s house FOUR TIMES, and I've managed to make my excuse each time.  I can't offend him… his parents and mine were old friends.  But I thought taking him to the theatre would mean at least I wouldn't have to talk to him so much.  But YOU, Inspector, are my ultimate trump card.”

“How will you manage to give him the brush off?”

“I’ll ring to tell him my fiancé is here, obviously.”

Downbeat.

“Uhh, did I miss something?”

“Well they’ll never believe you came all this way just to have your way with me!  We need to come up with something better to stop the torrential advances I've been receiving from the titled and penniless. Naturally you'd only come all this way to propose!”

“Naturally,” clearing his throat.

“Melbourne’s half a world away.  No one will know or care what we do when we get back.  And don’t worry my parents will be in on the fun.”

“Fun.”  He felt exactly like he did when she tried to get him into that horrendous Marc Antony costume.

“I'm glad it's settled.”  She grinned at him triumphantly and took his arm.  “Did you bring anything you can wear to the opera?  We have box seats, so prepare to see and be seen.”


	4. Dating Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff, a little plot (gasp in horror), and then yes, some smut. Phryne POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you think about it, in the show Jack has only ever kissed (or seriously tried to kiss) Phryne in public or out in the open where they could be watched or caught. Hmmm.

_ I think this should do the trick _ .

Jack was downstairs having an aperitif, while Phryne put the finishing touches on her ensemble.  She wore a black velvet one-shoulder gown, with a light dusting of gold beads over the shoulder; and an extremely high slit showing off her entire thigh on one side.  She'd seen a picture of Gloria Swanson wearing a similar gown in Hollywood, and she was getting used to being absolutely spoiled by her mother’s couture (liberal-minded!) dressmaker.  A gold fascinator completed her look.  

When she actually lived here, before Melbourne, she could never dress so scandalously.  With London society so oppressively judgmental, and the newspapers so lurid, she would have been utterly outcast.  Melbourne still had its eyebrows raised when it came to her antics, but she could do exactly as she liked and still maintain an interesting and varied circle of acquaintances.

Now that she was back in London, however, the old concerns seemed to fade.  She had no desire to maintain any relationships here this time, except with those very few dear friends who wouldn't care one bit what she wore or who she stepped out (or in) with.

Jack watched her on the stairs, not looking away once.  He was  dashing in his simple black tie tuxedo and pomaded hair.  

“That’s a very lethal dress, Miss Fisher.  I'm sure the fast crowd at the Royal Opera House will approve.  You look ravishing, of course.”

She walked up to straighten his tie (already straight) and place her palms on his lapels.  

“How can I resist a man who pays his debts?”  As she took his arm something flashed huge and sparkly on her left hand.

“What is that?”

“An engagement ring, Jack.  We have to play up the part!”

“Whose is it!”

“I pilfered it out of my mother’s jewelry box.”

“Phryne, absolutely not.  I'll not have you pretend that your mother’s damned … 5-carat diamond is an engagement ring from me.”

“Well I have to have something!”

With an exasperated sigh, he ran back up the stairs, returning with a small box.

“Here.” he was stone-faced and annoyed as he handed it to her.

“What's this?”

“Just something I had at home.  I thought I might give it to you if the moment was right.  Clearly this was not the moment I was anticipating.  It's … just a gift, NOT an engagement ring, but I think it could pass for one.”

She opened the box to find a very respectably-sized emerald ring, on a gold diamond-shaped setting, with diamond chips set all over.  It was clearly of a Victorian design.

“Jack,” she said softly, “this looks old. Where did you get it?”

“It was my grandmother’s.”

“It's beautiful.  Are you sure you want me to have it?”  

“The color reminds me of your eyes.”  They locked gazes, and then he took the ring to slide onto her finger.  With Phryne’s mother’s ring safely deposited with the butler, they were off.  She was glad he didn't notice it was way too warm for the thick, sleek fur stole thrown around her shoulders.

She felt a little guilty on the ride there, but also pleased.  It was impossibly sweet and romantic to bring this ring to give her. She wished she hadn’t forced his hand on the timing, but no matter. It really would be nice to get all these money-grubbing men to stop swarming after her ( _ I've never thought THAT before _ ), and she was looking forward to making Jack as uncomfortable as possible - a favorite hobby of hers.

It was opening night and all of London society was in attendance.  Jack played along beautifully as she introduced him as her fiancé to earls and barons and viscounts and even a duke. Only she noticed the tightened set of Jack’s jaw, but she also thrilled in his new habit of subtly keeping a hand at the small of her back whenever proximity would permit.  She rolled her eyes inwardly when she noticed that many of the countesses, baronnesses, and viscountesses seemed relieved to know that she was spoken for, especially after glancing disapprovingly at the high slit in her dress.  A rare few, including the duchess, were very good friends from her boarding school days, and from the late 20s when she lived here before moving to Melbourne.  When they finally took their seats, they had both had several sherries, and Jack had that adorable, flushed, restless look about him that meant he  _ may _ be slightly drunk.  She giggled to herself.  She looked around to appreciate their box. The seats were comfortable plush red velvet, and very close together. Behind them, a black velvet curtain hung between their backs and the door, blocking any light that might seep in. They had the closest box to the stage, and a wall separated them from the box next to them, effectively blocking any ability to be seen by their neighbors.

“I do approve of this choice, Miss Fisher.  Wasn't your namesake a similar courtesan?  A fallen woman?”

“Yes, trust my father to confuse his Greek.  He was aiming for Aphrodite, and missed the mark considerably.  My mother was furious and tried to rename me, but at that point he rather liked the sound of Phryne, so it stuck.  To this day, she calls me “P,” you’ll see.”

He swallowed and she could tell he was thinking about meeting her mother … 

_ Perhaps he's thinking about meeting her after having me all over her house _ .

The lights dimmed, and she took his warm hand during the overture, leaning her head on his shoulder.  His hand was strong and slightly calloused, and he softly traced his fingertips across the top of hers.  She couldn't help but be reminded of all the things those hands had done to her just the night before.

When Violetta took the stage, Phryne was intrigued.  She was … slim.  Curvy, to be sure, but certainly not the rotund girth that usually got the leads in the major opera houses.  Good, she thought, she’d long suspected that weight had nothing to do with singing, and she knew Mac agreed.  Perhaps that myth was being broken, and this was a fantastic part for a slimmer, girlish figure.  

When it became clear which tenor was Alfredo, she admired the casting again.  He had a tall, athletic build, and a wide, handsome face.  She felt a momentary irritation thinking that might be one thing London had on Melbourne:  superior opera productions.  Otherwise, she preferred her sunny new home in every particular.

Jack’s hand gripped her a bit tighter during the soaring melodies of the first company number.  She smiled thinking he must be enjoying himself after all.  He caught her looking at him and gave her a look that said “not bad.”

The two leads fell in love in the next song.  Their movements were so natural, and they were so …  _ attractive _ .  Towards the end of the song, they clasped each other, faces touching as they sang, and then kissed so desperately that Phryne felt her breath catch.  A little twinge began in her lower abdomen.  She let go of Jack's hand and started lightly brushing his thigh.  He grabbed her wrist after a few minutes.

“You'd better stop if you want me to fetch you another sherry at the interval.  I won't be decent to leave this box.”  She smiled and behaved herself till the lights came back on. 

During the interval, they both stretched their legs, and Jack left her to retrieve drinks.  

“Miss Fisher,” said a somewhat high nasally voice.

“Lord Rawdon,” she said politely, “I'm glad you could make it tonight afterall.”

“Yes, well, an  _ Earl _ can hardly miss opening night at the Opera, can he?”  Rawdon was not unattractive, but definitely had always taken himself way too seriously for her taste.

“No, indeed not.  I do apologize again about my change in circumstances, but I'm sure you would agree it would be highly improper to step out with others now that I'm engaged to be married.”

“Yes, well congratulations again.”  He decidedly did not look happy for her.

“Ahh, and here's Jack now.  Lord Rawdon, may I present my fiancé, Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson.  Jack, meet the Earl of Rawdon.”

Without shaking his hand or giving Jack a chance to speak, the Earl said, “charmed, I'm sure,” spun on his heel and scurried away.

Jack blushed slightly.  “How…charming.”

“Well it's no mystery what has his knickers in a twist.  He was supposed to have your ticket tonight.”

These words brought an unashamedly huge grin to his face.  “I see.  Well, I'd much rather be on his bad side and in his seat, any day of the week.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

As soon as the Entr’acte began, Phryne took her large fur stole and draped it across her lap, letting it drape generously over Jack as well.

“Brr,” she gave him her best innocent look, “I'm quite chilled.”  He put his arm around her shoulder to lend her his warmth.  She snuggled against him and felt very guilty about the fully premeditated pretense.  Her arm dove straight under the stole and made a beeline for his lap.  He tensed, and leaned into her ear.

“Miss Fisher, I am warning you.  Do not tempt me.”

She gave him a sultry look and began very lightly stroking one thigh, then the other.  She let her fingers stray up to his muscled stomach, and probe until she found his navel, drawing tight circles into it.  He remained very still.  Her hand returned to his thighs, letting her wrist brush lightly against his center to judge his reaction.

He had reacted.  

She placed her full hand squarely on his loins, with her fingers reaching as far down as possible.  She lightly stroked up and down, noticing his lips part, and a strong flush appear all over his face.  She gave a gentle but very deliberate squeeze.

He shifted his hips back into his seat, removed his arm from the back of her chair, and plunged it under both her arm and the stole.  She felt him skim the skin just above her knee, and he murmured, “you wore the wrong dress if you think you can beat me at this game tonight.”

Her core tightened and breathing quickened, as he began slow languorous strokes up and down her bare thigh.  His fingertips were far enough to the center to touch her other thigh as well.  He very gradually increased pressure until her heart was pumping and center throbbing.  With a nudge of his wrist, he pushed the dress up just enough so that the slit gave him full access to her heat.  She scooted down in her chair to encourage him to touch her.  He lightly - so lightly - traced his fingers across her silk panties.  She could already tell it would be moist, if not soaked.  She started lifting her hips, and he slipped one finger inside the cloth and into her folds.  Circling her most sensitive spot with two fingers, he leaned down to say, “I think I might develop a taste for the Opera, Miss Fisher.  You've … turned me onto it.”

He shifted in his chair for a better angle, and then probed one finger down, down, and down, and pushed it slowly inside of her.  She threw her head back, mouth open, and loudly gasped… just as there was a sudden pause in the music.  She opened her eyes and looked across the theatre to see several pairs of binoculars suddenly trained on her from the opposite side, as well as several turned up her way from the floor seats.

Jack removed his hand completely and she ached for it immediately.

Once the music picked back up, he leaned over, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go relieve myself.”

She pouted.  “You are NOT excused.”

“I'll be back,” he kissed her hand and took his leave.

She couldn't help but smirk as she wondered which need he would be relieving.  She was breathing very heavily, missing the feel of the warm sturdiness of him next to her, and the other feeling as well.  She couldn't wait to tease him all the way home in the cab, and then let him take her promptly upon entering the house.  She looked down to see if she needed to adjust her dress, and saw a very small folded scrap of paper resting on the stole in her lap.

_ Your turn to come after me _ .

Her eyes flew wide and chest thumped…what did he have in mind?  Maybe it was being a stranger in a new city, but something had certainly come over him.  He was so… mischievous… and playful.  Was this the same Jack Robinson, dour inspector extraordinaire?

She stood, leaving her purse and stole on the seat, and ducked behind the heavy velvet curtain, coming square into contact with a very warm familiar body.

“Jack!”  He was waiting for her between the closed door and the curtain.  His arms curled around her waist, and head bent forward to her ear.  She folded into him, body humming.  It was so dark, hidden away in this corner behind the huge, black curtain, she could see.  Almost all the sounds they made were completely lost in the huge reverberations of the theatre.  She could only feel, smell, and taste him.  

“I did warn you not to tempt me,” he said just barely loud enough for her to hear.  Then his lips were on hers, tongue in her mouth, bodies pressed tightly together.  He spun both of them around and pressed her back against the box wall, just beside the door.  His lips traveled down her neck and all over her exposed shoulder, down to graze at the line over her breasts where the dress began.  He brought both hands up to palm both breasts, then explored to let his fingers find her nipples through the dress.  They were stiff, and he traced them with light pressure.  Her hands dug into the back of his neck, while he found her mouth again, frantically circling their tongues together.

Then he let a hand stray down inside the opening in her dress.  He reached inside her panties, letting his knuckles brush back and forth against her sex.  She moaned, although even she couldn't hear it above the music.  When a particularly loud full note rang out, he grabbed the cloth and ripped it clean away, off her body and onto the floor.

“Jack!”  The surprise alone took her breath away, followed by a surging thrill and desperate need.

“I’m going to fuck you in your fancy opera box,” he growled into her ear.

“Yes, right here,” it was a plea.

He put his arms back around her, kissing her fully and roughly, with her head back against the wall.  She curled her exposed leg around his waist, and hiked up her dress so that the slit was high enough to give him full access to her.  She rubbed against his erection, while he lowered his hands to lift her up, pinning her to the wall.  She wrapped her legs around him, and he thrusted through his pants, squeezing her whole body tightly, until she thought she would faint from the burning sensation in her core.

She had been kissing his neck, sloppily, but now she bit his earlobe and said, “Now… I need you.”

He reached down and struggled to open his pants.  She gripped his shoulders with the undersides of her arms to stay put, squeezed between him and the wall.

_ He's holding me up with one arm.  God, he's strong. _

She felt his tip pause at her entrance.  She tried to push down onto him, but he resisted her efforts.  He placed his lips to hers and pushed her mouth open.  The music had reached a full rolling pace, and she felt him enter her with his thick cock and his tongue at the same time, pushing all the way into her to rub her clit at the hilt.  She shuddered:  he was in complete control and she surrendered to it willingly.  He started steadily thrusting, hitting her internal pleasure spot with the rhythm permeating the entire theatre.  

_ A footman could come in here and catch us at any minute _ .

There was something incredibly dangerous and erotic about having him inside her while fully clothed and in a room holding a considerable number of England's landed nobility.  She tried to speed up his pace, but he again resisted, drawing out both of their pleasures, using the beat around them as an unrelenting metronome.  

When she could bear it no longer, with the music -and her throbbing- at a dizzying crescendo, she reached down to clutch at herself, and her body burst into a powerful cacophony.  Jack could surely feel her pulsing orgasm, and he immediately sank his face into her shoulder.  She could hear his moaning just over the music as his hot pleasure spilled into her.

After, they let a bit of light stream in through the curtain.  She used her fingers to wipe the lipstick from his mouth and smooth down his rumpled hair.  The torn underwear served to help dry off her sticky legs.

“Give me a good head start.”

“I always do.”


	5. Comforting Phryne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events take a turn, Phryne is sad, Jack is a rock, of course. This is a Jack POV. And... smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it, a little plot crept in. Feel free to leave comments if it seems too stupid to continue...

 

“I’m now spoiled, Miss Fisher.  I'll never be able to sit through another performance without thinking of that little… interlude.”

She smiled, one eyebrow raised.  

“Maybe you won't have to.”

They spoke under their breath, amidst the crowd filing out of the theatre.  His hand, on the small of her back, dropped down to the side of her waist so that they strolled out of the theatre with her wrapped comfortably in his arm.  

This was such a new feeling, openly displaying his affection in public. It helped that there was no chance of being recognized by anyone he knew, and that he was on the other side of the world from the Victoria Police Force.  No work, no responsibilities, no murders, just Phryne.

_ I could really get used to this. _

And with that thought, the shoe proverbially dropped, or to be more specific, the woman dropped, right out of the sky, about 2 feet in front of them.

*****

After the sickening thud, there was a very long moment of realization before the horrified crowd began gasping and crying out.  The ones closest reviled back away from the pile of flesh, while people farther away strained to come closer to see what had happened.  The darkness in the street seemed to obscure and confuse everything.  Jack and Phryne sprang into action.  

“Back away,” they both shouted as if on cue.  Phryne kept the crowd back and started shouting orders.  “You, go back to the theatre and call the police.  Are there any doctors here?  Did anyone see how this happened? Keep back, keep back.”

Meanwhile, Jack quickly surveyed the body.  On instinct, he whipped off his tux jacket to lay over the center portion of the young woman’s body… over her nakedness.  He first thought about how to try to revive her, but as he slipped the jacket over her, he was pretty sure there was no point.  She was heavily bleeding from the abdomen, and the blood had splashed in a very wide circle from her body, indicating a long fall.  He felt for a pulse, and there was nothing.  

Standing up, he said into Phryne’s ear, “I hope you didn't go to all this trouble just for me.”

She gave him a sober and knowing look.  “Jack, this man says he saw her fall from the top of the roof,” Phryne held her witness by the arm to keep hold of him in the crowd.

Jack briefly thought about trying to run and apprehend anyone coming down from the roof access, but he soon realized he didn’t have a gun, or men to stabilize the scene and back him up, and he certainly couldn’t order the opera house to show him the way without being a proper local policeman.  

“Sir,” said Jack, “would you mind waiting till the police arrive to give them your statement.”

The well-dressed man gave Jack a strange look.  “Certainly.”

“Oh Jack, look,”  Phryne said, pointing at the woman’s face, “It’s Violetta, the lead from tonight’s performance!”

Jack leaned down to study the woman’s face more closely: it was, indeed, the prima donna of the evening.

Before long, sirens rang out, and two police cars pulled up to the crowd.  After the first-responding officers had checked the body, a senior-looking detective dressed in plain clothes, only slightly older than Jack, began securing the scene.  

“Whose jacket is this?” the detective asked.

“Hello officer,” Jack said, “Detective Inspector Jack Robinson from Melbourne, Australia.”  A confused look came over the British detective’s face.  “I’m here on holiday, and we happened to be standing very close to the … um … victim, where she fell.  We did our best to secure your scene for you, and I guess I just placed the jacket by instinct.  I’m sorry if that’s not what your protocol would permit.  She was… naked… and there were so many people.  We didn’t see where she came from at first, so I wasn’t even sure she was dead when I placed it.”

The detective flashed a look of relief.  “Not at all, Detective Robinson.  It’s lucky to have someone trained on the scene right away.  Many thanks for your efforts.  Did someone see her fall?”

“Yes, in fact, this gentleman is willing to make a statement.  He said she came off the high part of the roof, so you may want to get some men up there straight away.”

“Thanks, and I’d like to have an official statement from you as well if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”  It was very strange to be on this side of an investigation, but Jack’s first impression of the Scotland Yard man was that he was efficient, smart, and polite.  The detective gave a few orders to his men before returning to the deceased.

He lifted Jack’s jacket gingerly, handing it back.

“Christ, not another one.”  The detective looked around to make sure no civilians could hear him.  He gave Phryne, standing within earshot, a polite look. “Ma’am, please stand with the rest of the crowd over there.”

“I’m …” Phryne began.

“She’s with me.” Jack cut her off.  “She’s discreet.”

_ I remember the effect she had on my police force, and me, at first.  I need to be the liaison before she gets us kicked out of here. _

Phryne flashed Jack a withering look.

“Officer,” she said, batting her eyelashes a bit.  “Have you had more victims like this?”

“We had one yesterday, mutilated in the same way, but not thrown off a roof.  I’m hoping we can keep these details quiet for as long as possible.  It’s hard to believe these are not related.  With no clothes, this one will be difficult to identify.”

“I don’t think so, officer,” Phryne said.  “I believe you’ll find she was the lead for tonight’s opera.”

“Oh God,” the detective said, “wait till the press get ahold of this one.”

“I’m sure you’ll have everything quite under control,” Phryne purred. “But if you have more questions for us …” She slipped a card into his hand.  Jack hoped it was just a social calling card with her name and address.

_ She wouldn’t have had private detective cards made up already here, would she? _

Jack and Phryne both gave statements, then hailed a cab.  Jack kept a hand on Phryne’s shoulder until they were settled in the warm cab.  Phryne was silent, but leaned into him heavily.  The hansom cab driver gave them a quizzical look, and Jack realized what they must look like.  Phryne had bright red streaks of blood across her bare leg, and arms.  Jack looked down to see a splash on his white shirt, just below his bow-tie, and he was carefully holding his drenched jacket, so as not to transfer blood to any unnecessary surface.  

“Oh Jack, I can’t believe it,” she said in a quiet wail.  “She was so gorgeous and full of life, such a voice!  Who would want to do such a horrible thing?”  He shifted to put his arm around her shoulder and pull her close.

“Well, you never know,” Jack said.  “She may have jumped.”

“Naked?  Please.  You know better than that, Jack.  And I know you saw those vicious cuts on her belly; there’s no way that could have resulted from a fall.”

“I don’t know, Miss Fisher, we’ll have to just leave this one to the police.  There’s nothing more we can do on the outside without access to the medical reports and witnesses.  I know you’re not used to this, but we aren’t in Melbourne, and I think the detective on the case seemed extremely competent.  I’m sure they’ll be able to do everything we would.”

She raised one eyebrow at him.

“I’m not sure I completely agree with that, but I surely would like to NOT tie ourselves up in an investigation here.  I want to just enjoy our time, and then head back to Melbourne as soon as I’ve put in a respectable amount of time visiting Mother.”

She nestled her head into the crook in his shoulder.  “I know we joke about it, but do you think I’m cursed?”

“What?”

“Wherever I go, murder follows me.  Ever since Janey died.  Sometimes I think it can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, that’s absurd.  You just care too much to simply walk away like all the other bystanders.  Maybe that’s because of what happened to Janey - you can’t let other victims go unnoticed or unrevenged.”

She sighed, and he wanted to somehow remove every piece of sadness from her life.  He kissed her fringed bangs.  Her hair was so incredibly smooth, and she was warm and soft.  He pushed her hair from her forehead and gently pressed his lips to her skin.

“Well, Detective Inspector,” she said, the flirtatious lilt back in her voice.  “I do believe that was the first murder investigation work I've done with my underwear ripped and in my purse.”

He softly chuckled, appreciating the fact that she was attempting to lighten the mood. But Phryne couldn't fool Jack this time.  He knew she was still shaken.

“I hope it won't be the last.”

“I miss home,” she said abruptly, wistfully.  He smiled, relieved that she thought of Australia as home now, and not this far, overcast country.  

“We can leave whenever you like,” he whispered.

*****

“Miss Fisher, are you hurt?” asked Hudson when they finally entered the townhouse, exhausted and bloodied.

“No, Hudson, we’re quite alright, but in need of very stiff drinks. Please bring them up to my room.”

Hudson quickly left the room, and Phryne looked up at Jack, with a quiet seriousness that made him pay close attention to her.  “Let's wash this horrible thing off ourselves.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then she took his hand, and he followed her upstairs and into her bathroom.  

She ran the water, dropping some musk-smelling salts into the very large bathtub.  Very slowly, slightly shaking, she reached up and untied his bow-tie.  She kept his gaze, only breaking it to occasionally look down at his lips.  Slowly, gently, she unbuttoned his waistcoat, and bloodied shirt, peeling them off as she went.  She took time to thoroughly rub her hands all over his chest and abdomen while removing every layer.  Jack felt all the blood rush to his groin.  He dearly hoped she wouldn't be appalled at his arousal, when she seemed so sad and affected by the evening’s events.  She reached down, gently cupping her hand over his erection, while holding his gaze and catching her bottom lip with her teeth, before unfastening his trousers and letting them fall away.  Finally, she peeled off his underclothes.  

“Why don't you get in?”  she invited softly.  He obeyed, exhaling and letting the hot water envelope him.

“Are you joining me?”

“Of course.”  She reached down to gather up her skirt, and in one smooth movement, lifted the dress up off her body completely.  He'd somehow forgotten that he'd relieved her of her knickers, and now gasped at the sight of her naked form, for a moment on full display for him with her face completely covered by the dress, breasts lifted with her arms, nipples erect and pointing straight at him.

She gingerly made her way into the tub, careful to arrange herself between his thighs without disturbing the water.  She leaned back against his erection, laid her head on his chest, and sighed deeply.  He took a bar of soap off the dish, and began gently washing her arms, removing the bits of blood that remained.  Sitting up a bit, he then reached forward to wash her bloodied leg as well.  Her hair in his face still smelled divine, like her musky perfume, and her flowery shampoo, and like her.

He was still slightly embarrassed that his hard cock was pressing into her, when she clearly did not seem in the right frame of mind for love-making.  But just then, she surprised him utterly by taking both his hands and pressing them to her breasts.  He began a very slow, careful massage, starting on the outside of her breasts, and slowly moving to the nipples.  Once he felt her squirm, and heard her breathing catch up, he trailed one arm down slowly to begin making wide circles around her mound, bringing those circles tighter and tighter as he increased pressure.  She moaned low and soft.  He pressed gentle, long kisses to the back of her neck and shoulders.

“Jack I'm so glad you're here. It still seems like a dream.”  It was a whisper.  “You will have to forgive me for my clichéd revelations tonight, but the universe is reminding me that …  _ tempus fugit _ .  Our waltz has been captivating, but I don't want to ever walk circles around each other again.”

“I'm right here, Phryne.  I've always been careful not to overwhelm you with devotion, but the truth is that I'm not going anywhere.”

“Do you think…when we get back to Melbourne…that you would consider...spending a lot more time at a certain 221B The Esplanade?”

_ Could I be mistaken, does she sound shy, hesitant? _

“I'm very much hoping I will be doing so, of course.”

“No…, I mean, perhaps, on a somewhat permanent basis?”

He froze, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing.  His hands stopped, and she twisted around to look at him, gauging his reaction. He felt tongue-tied, just when he wished he had the perfect, eloquent reaction.

He said slowly, seriously, emphatically:  “Nothing would make me happier.”

She gave him a huge wide smile, and twisted her whole body around so that she was laying on her stomach on top of him, back arched up so that they were face-to-face in the water, her hands resting on his shoulders.

She kissed him slowly, thoroughly, as he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close.  When she came up for breath, she readjusted her legs so that she was straddling him in the tub.  She pressed down to slowly rub his shaft up and down her folds, his glans scraping along her swollen nub, back and forth and back and forth, with the water swishing around them in rhythm.  He massaged her ass as he tried to encourage her to increase her pace.

When he could stand it no longer, he asked, “Do you want to move into…?”  He nodded his head in the direction of the bedroom.

“No, not really,” she said with a mischievous grin.  Her answer thrilled him.  He’d often fantasized about making love in water, but he thought he'd read that it didn't really work… that lubrication was an issue.  He thought briefly that he had so much to learn.

She reached up to the counter behind the bathtub, and grabbed something.  He looked behind him to see her fingers thrust into a jar of petroleum jelly.  

“Still there from the last man you had in your tub?”  he asked, half joking, half fearful.

“No, Mr. Detective Inspector,” she purred.  “I just set it here after I undressed you.  Your detecting skills must be getting rusty.”  She thrust a handful of the substance into the water and firmly gripped him, covering him with it.  In the hot water, the jelly seemed softer, more oily, he thought he might explode with the new sensation.  After thoroughly coating his cock, she held him against her opening, and he grabbed her hips, leaning up to her face.  

He mouthed the words almost silently, barely making any sound.

“Phryne, I love you.”

Her lips came down on his at the same time as her swollen passage slid down his shaft.  Impaled against him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and brought her face around to his ear, biting his soft flesh and then whispering, “I love you, Jack Robinson.”

He briefly felt very guilty about the household staff as she began moving against him, gripping the tub for purchase, quickly picking up her pace to a frenzy.  Water sloshed up the sides and out of the tub onto the floor.  He leaned his head back against the side of the tub, and watched her face as she rode above him.  Her eyes were closed, mouth open, head back, neck exposed, breasts bouncing.  It was an incredibly erotic sight.  The oily friction of his cock slipping in and out of her, coupled with the movement of the water against him as he drew out of her, was threatening to very quickly send him over the edge.  He reached up to pinch both her nipples at once, and she screamed, slamming herself down onto him.  The thought that she was probably bruising her knees on the tub gave him a very guilty, dirty thrill… she was so desperate to grind against him that she was likely hurting herself in the process.  He reached down to press a thumb against her pearl, and she immediately began groaning her release.  He could feel her passage clench against him again and again, the climax seeming to last an unnaturally long time.  The heat and steam and sensation made him dizzy…at the height of his tension, he started to see black closing in on the edges of his vision.  He thought he would lose consciousness.  As her rocking lessened in intensity, he let himself go to empty inside her.  He made noises that he didn't know he could make, finally coming down, whispering her name.  

She left him inside her as long as possible, nearly falling asleep against his chest.  When he softened and finally fell out, he helped her to stand up.  He wrapped one huge, fluffy towel around her, one around himself, and then he lifted her out of the tub and carried her to the bed.  Her exhausted, flushed, towel-wrapped body brought back vivid memories of rescuing her at the Turkish bathhouse.  He didn't have many instances of rescuing her (usually she had already saved herself before he arrived), but he still considered the bathhouse incident one of those times.  

“Thank you,” she smiled sleepily.  “Did Hudson bring the drinks?”  He handed her a crystal tumbler, and they both nestled into the sheets, sipping the warm liquid, staring quietly at each other.

“I'm going to have to check on the investigation,” she said at last.

“I thought you might,” he said quickly, an eyebrow raised knowingly.  “I didn't believe you for one second about staying away.  Although, it might be trickier inserting yourself into Scotland Yard, as opposed to old City South.  I can't imagine our security is quite as rigorous.”

“Poppycock,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.  “Security is only as good as the weak men standing guard.  Once I decide to get in there, it's as good as done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments, and sorry it's taking me a while to come up with more chapters. I have lots of ideas, but the later chapters are not pouring out like the first ones did!


	6. Leaving Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne being Phryne...

 

Being wrapped in certain very strong arms had resulted in amazing restfulness.  Phryne woke early the next day, and knew that Jack’s journey was still catching up with him.  She lay for a while, not wanting to disturb him, drinking in the sight of his tan, strong jaw and tousled hair.  As much as she wanted to stroke that firm, smooth back, she knew she needed to let him sleep.  He did not stir as she eventually gently untangled from his embrace, crept out of bed, bathed, dressed herself, and went downstairs.  

“Telegram for you, Miss,” said Hudson as she came downstairs.  She wore gray, well-cut slacks, and a silk burgundy shirt, with a very long silver-and-black patterned, crepe de chine scarf shimmering around her shoulders and reaching down all the way to her knees in front.  Matching burgundy pumps and a cloche hat completed her ensemble.

DONT F THIS UP STOP STAY OUT OF TROUBLE STOP SOD YOUR PARENTS AND COME HOME SOON STOP LOVE MAC 

END TRANSMISSION

She smiled ruefully:  Mac could be very demanding when she thought she had Phryne’s best interests at heart.  Her heart flipped a little when she realized Jack must have told him Mac the exact day his ship was arriving. she thought of them conspiring to surprise her. Phryne did want to “sod” her parents.  Maybe she would look into ship reservations today.  As much of an adventure as her trip was to London, she didn’t think she could take another harrowing life-risking flight quite so soon again.

Laid out on the breakfast table was fresh tea and the morning paper:  “Violetta,” or Beverly Miles, was front page news.

_ OPERA DIVA FALLS TO HER DEATH _

_ Following last night’s opening performance of  _ La Traviata _ , the lead soprano, Beverly Miles, plunged ---- feet to her death among a crowd of departing opera guests.  It remains unknown whether she was deceased prior to the fall, as witnesses cited potential lacerations to her body.  Scotland Yard has confirmed they are investigating the death as a homicide, but no further details about the investigation have been disclosed. _

The article went on to describe her prior career and enormous talent, her young age of 24, and the fact that she had two children:  ages 6 and 4.  No husband or other family members were mentioned.  

_ Is it possible she built herself a stage career while a single mother at age 18?  That’s remarkable. _

_ Those poor children - probably in welfare. _

Phryne scanned the entire article to determine if it mentioned the other similar case that the Scotland Yard detective had mentioned.  The journalist had not connected Miles’ death with any other recent crime.  Phryne, however, noticed a very short blurb towards the back of the paper detailing a stabbing of a young woman who worked in a gentleman’s club in Hackney:  Virginia Brown.  She wondered if this could be the similar case.

She drummed her fingers on the table, as Hudson appeared in the doorway.  “Would you care for breakfast, Miss?”

She had three options for the day.  She could lounge around, eat breakfast, and wait for Jack to wake up.  Or she could go out and purchase those steamer tickets home to surprise him.  Or … there was something else she was itching to do.

“No, thank you Hudson, I’m not feeling particularly peckish right now.” 

She jumped up from the table, grabbed her handbag from last night, went upstairs to retrieve her pistol, and rushed out the front door to hail a cab.  The third option was definitely first in her mind.  She guiltily hoped Jack was really as tired as she thought he was, and if not, well, he surely wouldn’t mind reading her mother’s books and feasting on her delicious food for a morning.

*****

“Tour for one, please,” Phryne announced at the box office.  She was surprised they were still conducting tours of the opera house today, but it seemed an excellent way to get access behind the scenes.  She had no trouble giving the tour guide the slip once they were in the darkened inner rooms behind the stage.  

“Who’r you?” asked a surprised, sweet-sounding cockney voice in the dressing room.

“May Collings,” said Phryne in her best Australian accent, holding out her hand, "I'm here to fill the open Violetta role.”

“Wow they sure move fast. R’you from the Sydney Opera?”

“Uh, yes, thereabouts.  Do you have a singing part?  

“No, Miss.  I just do the make-up. I'm ‘ere early to see what I'm runnin’ low on before tonight's show.  I'm glad you're ‘ere so I c’n see what you’ll need.  Such lovely cheekbones, and eyelashes.  You’ll be easy to make up, Miss.”

“Did you know Beverly well?”

“Oh yes, Miss, I made ‘er up for years.  She's the one got me hired for the show.”  She signed, eyes welling, “Such a pretty girl, can't believe she's gone.”  

“Do you have any idea who would’ve wanted to hurt her?  Anyone here, working on the show?” Phryne whispered, feigning fear. 

“Oh no, I can't believe that.  Although…, she an’ her beau had a terrible row b’fore the show last night.”

“What about?”

“We couldn't ‘ear what they was sayin’, but they was talkin’ at the top o’ their voices somethin’ awful.  The director was afraid they was gonna’ be hoarse for the show.”  The girl’s Cockney was more pronounced the more agitated she became.

“Her beau was in the show, too?”

“Oh yes, Miss, everyone knew she was goin’ steady with Colin Masters, the lead, y’know, the one that plays Alfredo.”

“My, my, very scandalous.  He seems young, he didn't mind that she already had two children?”

She ducked her head and whispered, “I'm not totally sure ‘e knew about the kids.”

“Do you think that could have been what the fight was about?”

“Not sure, it's possible.”

“Where were they fighting?”

“Right here - in the dressing room!  Colin stormed in here, and locked everyone else out.”

Switching topics a bit, “So, do you know how she got up to the roof?”

The girl narrowed her eyes, looking suspicious.

“Just, you know, so I can steer clear if someone wants me to go up there with them,” added Phryne, trying to look as fearful as possible.

“You can get up there from the dressing room, right here.” She pointed to a door in the corner of the room.  “Crew likes to smoke up there, so the set doesn’t get all smokey.  Sometimes people go up there during the performance for a breath of fresh air.”

“And no one saw her go up there?”

“No, everyone else left straight away after the show.  She was thinking of changing her costume, so she was staying to try some things on.  That’s the last I seen her.”

Suddenly, they heard loud shouting from somewhere else in the darkened theatre.

The girl gasped, looking terrified.  

“Stay here,” Phryne whispered, “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

Phryne crept down the hallway leading out of the dressing room and towards the shouting.  Just as she could start to make out some of the words, she saw the office from which the angry voices emanated:  “THEATRICAL PRODUCER”.

“Well, I don’t care, the show must go on.  I’m never going to recoup my investment now.”

“The girls are afraid - no one wants to play the part while the murder is unsolved, and I had 3 chorus girls quit today.  I might need more cash entice someone in here.”

“NOT going to happen.  Figure it out; there WILL be a show tonight, or I’ll replace you.”

The door slammed open before Phryne could make a move, and she was stranded in the corridor. Maybe she was losing her touch - she’d just act like she got lost from the tour.

“Phryne!”  Her heart jumped into her throat when she came face to face with the Earl of Rawdon.

“James!”  She tried to hide her surprise and act nonchalant.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well, I was, um,” she searched, then decided to reply honestly, “just upset about last night, frankly.  I thought I’d come down and see if they were making headway in the investigation.  But I don’t see a copper anywhere in sight!  They don’t even have this placed taped off as a crime scene!”

“Yes,” his face clouded over, “I can’t imagine anyone competent is looking into it at all.”

“Are you,” she looked quizzically, “a financier for the Opera?”

“Unfortunately, yes.  It’s been so popular lately, I thought it would be a wise investment.  Now this tragedy struck, on opening night no less, I’m afraid we might not even be able to continue the production.  We need the murder solved so our singers aren’t too scared to perform!”  He paused, realization dawning.  “Phryne, didn’t you say you were working as a private detective in Melbourne?”

“I am.”

“Please, I would be ever so grateful if you could take a look into this case for me.  I’m not exactly flush with cash, but if you get the murder solved, I could give you 5% of the profits of this season of the opera?”

“25% and you have a deal.”  Phryne took many cases for free, but couldn’t resist negotiating with one of the greedy suitors trying to get his hands on her for her cash.

“Mother will be so relieved when I tell her.  She always did like you.”

“Well, your mother was always such a dear.  I do remember her coming over often to keep my mother company when my father was out on his benders.”

“Yes,” he said, “well, they had drunk husbands in common, that’s certain.”

Maybe Phryne had been unfair to James Rawdon.  Perhaps his distastefully snobby exterior was just a cover for being the child of an absent father, just as she was.  

“I’ll leave you to your investigation,” he said. “I have some work to do to figure out how to borrow an opera star for tonight.”

She just had one more thing to check.  She made her way back to the dressing room, and was relieved to find the makeup girl gone.  She opened the door to the roof access, and climbed a great many number of steps before emerging into the overcast, muggy London morning.  She surveyed the flat expanse, noting the many cigarette butts and empty liquor bottles littering the area.  

_ The crew surely knows how to have fun up here. _

She peeked over the side to get her bearings and determine where the body must have fallen from.  Looking down, she realized on this calm morning that not a soul was walking by the theatre, and no cars or carriages were on the road either.  Like lightning, she grabbed an empty bottle off the floor and dropped it from where she judged the body had fallen.

_ Bullseye _ .

The bottle dropped very close to where Phryne and Jack had been - she could still faintly see the wide circle of blood on the concrete.  She couldn’t believe the police weren’t here!  What were they doing?

_ So, if they didn’t clean the bloodstain up on the street, they likely wouldn’t have cleaned up the blood up here either.   _

She looked at the ground near where the body must have fallen.  Nothing.  No blood, but nothing else either.  

_ That’s strange.  Did the women receive all the lacerations before being dragged up to the roof?  How was that possible? _

There were cigarette butts and bottles everywhere else, except in the 10-foot radius of where she was standing.  She knelt down and rubbed her fingers on the roof surface.  It was too clean; it had definitely been cleared.  She continued to walk the very large area of the roof, hoping to find any other clues.  All the way around the roof, on the other side of the block completely from the theatre entrance, she found what she was looking for.  Wedged into a little area where the plaster was crumbling away, she found an empty bleach jug - empty except for a handful of soggy cigarette butts, which looked like they had been bloodied, and then doused with bleach.

_ Only one thing to do with this. _

She attempted to somewhat hide the half-smashed jug with her scarf as she stole down the steps and out onto the street to hail another hansom cab.

“Scotland Yard,” she told the driver.

****

“Can I help you, Miss?” asked a bored-looking constable at the entrance to the station.

“Yes, I need to have a private word with the detective in charge of the Miles case.”

“Please tell me what it’s in regard to, Miss.  He’s very busy.”

“Yes, well, I gave a statement last night - I’m a witness,” she said, eyes batting, looking coquettish.  “And I … desperately … need to speak with him.”  She said the last sentence in a close whisper, leaning in close to the constable’s face.  She thought she could just charm her way right through this one without much more artifice, and she was correct.

“Right this way, Miss...”

“Phryne Fisher,” she held out her empty hand with a huge smile for the poor lad.  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”  As they walked down the hall, she took his arm and gave his little bicep a good squeeze.

He left her in an interview room, and she made a mental note to try to hurry her way through this.  She didn’t think Jack would be too pleased with being on his own the ENTIRE day.

“Miss Fisher,” said the detective on his way into the room.  “How can I help you, did you think of any other details from last night?”

“Well, Detective… “

“Chief Inspector Morse.”

“CHIEF Inspector,” she batted her eyelashes furiously, “I was just so upset thinking of that poor girl, and I just wanted to … see if I could be of any further assistance.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but you don’t remember…”

“I dropped by the Opera House this morning and was very surprised that no one from your unit was there.”

“We cleared out of the Opera House overnight.  We had a very large presence and wanted to get everything wrapped up quickly.  We’ve thoroughly searched and ended our on-scene investigation.  We’re tracking down a number of leads, and I want you to know that the investigation looks very promising.”

“My, you DO work quickly.  I’m impressed!”  she said, half mocking, but also at least half seriously.  She inwardly giggled when she thought about lording that time-frame over Jack later today.

“If I can be honest, Chief Inspector, I’m somewhat of a private detective.”  His face remained stoic.  “I’ve worked a number of cases with the Melbourne police, including Detective Inspector Robinson.”

“Your opera date… and apparent travel companion.”  He didn’t miss a trick.

“... Yes.”

“And now, I’ve been retained to look into this case by the main opera financier, the Earl of Rawdon.”

Again, his face was stoic.

“I’m glad to have all the help we can get.”  He said surprising her.  “Have you uncovered anything thus far?”

“Well,” she peeled back the end of her large scarf.  “I did happen to find this on the roof.”

His face completely blanched for one miniscule second, as he reached out to take the bleach bottle.

“Did you? Where?”  She described where on the roof it had been wedged.  “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it certainly helps me to piece the puzzle together, but it’s probably not very good in court now that you’ve touched it.”

“True, but how much better would it really have been had I told you to where to find it … AFTER you’d closed your investigation of the scene?”  she asked with a small triumphant smile.

He couldn’t argue with that.  “How do I know it was even on the roof at all?”

She gave him a long look.

“Look at it, you know it was.  How could I make this up?”

“Thank you for bringing this, Miss Fisher, but …”

“Have you heard anything about Ms. Miles’ beau?  The incomparable Alfredo?”

Morse gave a long, reluctant sigh.  “We have him in custody.  This is confidential police business, Miss.  I’m only confirming this so you don’t blab it elsewhere.  I’m sure you know how important it is to keep these details from the press.”

“Good!” Phryne said.  “I’m once again impressed with your efficiency.  I am, of course, a pillar of discretion.”  Long pause.  “I don’t suppose he has any other connections to Virginia Brown, that poor girl, does he?”

“We’re tracking down that line of investigation.”

“It IS curious that those slash marks are identical, right across …”

“Throat, belly, and breasts, yes, they are identical.”  He froze, realizing he just gave her much more information than she already had access to.  

She smiled indulgently, oozing feminine charm.  “A pillar of discretion.  I don’t suppose you’ve interviewed Colin Masters - Alfredo - yet?  You know, sometimes a woman’s touch is just what is needed…”

“Thank you, but absolutely not.  It’s out of the question.  Thank you for bringing this evidence to me, and I hope you’ll be prompt in bringing any other information to our attention.  But please,” he took her by the arm as she was walking past him to the door, “do be careful.  It seems like we may have a madman on our hands.”

“Of course!”  She gave him a cheeky grin, and breezed out of the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware Morse was about 50 years later, and not in London. It's more of an homage. :)
> 
> I'm also now aware that the Royal Opera House did not exist at this time, but details, details...


	7. Cursing Phryne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love embarrassed Jack.

Jack knew he was waking very late by the amount of sun streaming in the room.  He reached over and felt the cold pillow next to him.

_ That's disappointing. Although, she really is wearing me out. _

He smiled like a 14-year-old boy.  He reluctantly rose, so he could bathe properly, shave, and dress in trousers and a casual sweater to go downstairs.

“Good morning, Sir, can I arrange breakfast for you?”  Jack was not imagining the skeptical look he received from Hudson.

“Uh, yes, um, where’s Miss Fisher?”

“She went out, Sir … I’m not sure where.”

Jack looked at the clock:  11:30.  He felt a bit sheepish.  Actually, now that he was alone with the butler, he was mortified as to what this man’s opinion was of him.

“When did she leave?”

“About 9:00.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up.   _ Where could she have gone for almost three hours?   _ He hoped she wasn’t out investigating.   _ On second thought, she is definitely investigating. _

Jack signed, “Breakfast would be wonderful.”  For his part, he was going to enjoy his holiday, whether Phryne wanted to work or not.  He picked up the paper, which was turned to a back page - this must have been what she was reading right before she left.  He still liked to think he could keep tabs on her just by his powers of detection.  He scanned the stories, and settled on the Virginia Brown story from the gentleman’s club.  This had to be what the detective was talking about with the similar case.  He flipped back and forth between the front and back page to compare both stories.  Both women seemed to be single mothers, working women, in show business (even if the forms were drastically different), and each were stabbed or slashed.

_ Not again.   _ Good god, she’s probably at another gentleman’s club.  He flipped back to the Virginia Brown story, reading again until he completely froze.  He re-read the casual sentence over and over.  

_ Brown enjoyed limited fame in some art circles as being prolifically painted by Henry Lamb. _

Could it be possible?  He went over the details again.  These women were in their early 20s, very young to have children, with no husbands even mentioned as deceased:  single mothers, not widows.  And yet, these women were attractive and working as models.  Well, Ms. Miles wasn’t really a model, but who knew, perhaps she had sat for some paintings over the years.  Both slashed:  what he wouldn’t give to examine the slashings to see if they were similar to ...

Completely lost in thought, Jack did not hear the front door open or the voices in the foyer.

“Jack!” said Henry Fisher.  “I was wondering if we might be receiving you one of these days!  How are you, good man.”

Jack’s eyes just about jumped out of his skull.  He choked on his tea.  Here he was, sitting in their dining room, after crossing half the world to… declare his love for  _ (fuck!) _ their daughter, and she wasn’t even here to break the ice.   _ Damn her.   _ He thought about how many times he’d already screwed her in their house.   _ Calm down, they’ll never know how physical it got so soon - I’m just courting, just visiting.   _ Then, with a rush, he remembered shamelessly snogging her with abandon right in front of her father on the airfield.   _ He definitely saw that. _

“Baron, Baroness,” he said in greeting.  Jack got up, and Henry clapped a hand on his back.

“Margaret, meet Detective Inspector Jack Robinson,” Henry said.  Jack was certain Henry had already told Margaret about him by the way he emphasized his name.

Jack swallowed, “It’s very nice to meet you.  I’m sorry to impose on your hospitality.”  Jack held out a hand to the Baroness, and she instead held out her arms for a hug.  Jack awkwardly relinquished his hand and embraced Phryne’s mother.  She was tall and very handsome.  The spitting image of Phryne and the very opposite of her sister Prudence.

“Nonsense,” she smiled warmly.  “Henry’s told me all about you.  P has decidedly NOT told me about you, and she’s also shown no interest in any other man whatsoever since arriving.  Which means, I knew she was in love, finally.  I knew it would happen to her eventually, despite her protests.  It’s so wonderful to have a chance to meet you.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth turned up in a completely humiliated smirk.  How on earth would he respond to that?  He then realized that he’d pretty much already shown his cards by traveling all this way…

“Well, there’s no one else quite like her.”

Margaret and Henry both had quite a laugh at that, exchanging knowing looks.

“Where is she?” her mother asked.

“I have no idea,” said Jack.  “She left this morning before I woke, and she didn’t tell Hudson where she was off to.”

“Typical P,” her mother said.  “Well, good.  I get you all to myself.  Hudson,” she called, “can you please whip us up some lunch, I’m starved.”

Jack hoped Hudson would just serve him lunch and not tell the Fishers that he hadn’t breakfasted yet.  Henry excused himself to go upstairs.

“So, Detective…”

“Please, call me Jack.”

“Very well, Jack; and you may call me Margaret.” Jack thought he had deja vu, she said the exact same words with the exact same pleased expression that Phryne had used.  The apple really did not fall far.

“Jack.  Was she pleased to see you?”  Jack felt himself flush crimson, he thought she’d at least start with some niceties before needling him.

“I hope so, she didn’t turn me away, so that was good.”

“Yes, you never know with that one.  She’s always been so resistant to any attachments.”

He chuckled.

“So, tell me about yourself, Jack, what are your interests?”

“Well, I’m a pretty simple man, really.  I’m interested in … well, your daughter, for one.” She smiled widely; he still remembered how to charm a girl’s parents.  “I’m interested in my work, helping people, finding justice in the world.”  Her eyes teared up a bit at that.  At the risk of bringing up a bad subject, Jack asked softly, “Has Phryne told you we got the death penalty for Murdoch Foyle?”

“Yes,” her eyes spilled over immediately, and she impulsively reached out and gripped Jack’s hand. “Thank you.  I’m so grateful to have her back - to know where Janey’s resting place is.  You have no idea how often I’d wondered where she was over the past decades.  It never goes away:  the loss of a child.”

“I know,” he slipped, saying it too quickly.

Her eyes narrowed at him, “Have you lost a child, Jack?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat.  Christ, he should not say this, but there was just something about Margaret.  Just like Phryne, there was something open about her face that could pry the truth from the devil himself.  “I was married, before, and we lost a baby.  I mean, it’s completely different, she wasn’t even born yet.”

She took his hand again, “It’s not different, not really.  Once you feel you’re responsible for someone else, your world changes.  To lose that is devastating, no matter when it happens.”

“So,” attempting to lighten the mood, “what are your plans in London.  Have you done any sightseeing yet?”

Before he could answer, Hudson interrupted, “My lady, the Viscount of Eversley.”

A very handsome young man entered, took Margaret’s hand and kissed it.  “Baroness, it’s so lovely to see you.”

Margaret introduced Jack and the Viscount.  She began asking about the Viscount’s family, and Jack immediately felt left out, even though Margaret attempted to continue steering the conversation back to something Jack would find interesting.  The Viscount asked about Phryne twice, and was not hiding the fact that he was disappointed to find her not at home.  

_ Seriously, where is she?  This is becoming unbearable.  I’ve got half a mind to go looking for her. _

Henry re-entered the dining room just as a glorious lunch was served, with sherry, and without a word spoken about breakfast.  Perhaps Hudson wasn’t so bad afterall.  Just as Jack was buttering his bread, Hudson again announced another visitor.

“The Earl of Rawdon,” Jack’s head snapped up, this was the man who was so frosty to him at the Opera.  

Surprisingly, the Earl greeted Jack politely, right before dropping the bomb, “I’m very happy to get to know Phryne’s fiance.”

Jack almost spit out his sherry.  Henry froze, and Margaret gasped, “Engaged!?  That’s wonderful news! James, that’s really quite a shame you had to break the news when Phryne’s not even here, what were you thinking!”

Jack was very grateful Margaret was directing attention away from him while his mind raced.  He couldn’t say it was a joke now, with two other men in the room.  Especially because it was basically invented to get Phryne out of going to the opera with Rawdon.  Her parents were just going to have to be disappointed later - hopefully they knew her well enough not to be surprised by antics like this.

The Earl flushed bright red at such a censure, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, really.  I thought you knew!”

“Jack, have you two set a date?” Margaret asked.

“Uh, no, it’s all rather new.”

“Yes, I’m sure!  Well, we couldn’t be happier, could we Henry?” she doted.

“Well, she could have married someone from England, someone who couldn’t arrest me!”

“Henry!”

“Oh, I’m just joking, we really are proud, Jack.  Can I call you son?  I’ve always wanted to call someone son!”

Jack felt slightly nauseous with this deception and fawning.  

_ She is going to pay. _

*****

As soon as lunch was cleared, Jack excused himself, saying he needed some exercise, and a walk would do him good.  He couldn’t sit in that room with her parents and two of her damned suitors for one second longer.  He was very glad to have escaped this extremely awkward situation without getting drunk like the last time - he’d learned his lesson on Henry’s nerve tonic.  This engagement story was really irritating.  The last thing he wanted to do was tell her parents that they were NOT, in fact, getting married.  What a mess.  

He walked briskly to the main intersection nearby, found a police constable and asked him where the closest post office was.  He had a telegram to send.

HOPE MARRIED LIFE IS WELL STOP NEED COPY OF MODEL SLASHER FILE STOP SEND BY AIRMAIL ASAP STOP DOT HAS ADDRESS STOP JR

END TRANSMISSION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to make you wait. Next chapter will contain smut!


	8. Under Cover with Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going under cover with Jack is just more fun.

“Where's Jack? How long have you been home?” Phryne asked upon her arrival. Her parents were sitting in the parlor, a little too close, and she thought she caught a glimpse of them holding hands. 

“Oh, Phryne!” said her mother, “I can see what all the fuss about! What a handsome, charming man he is.” 

_ Here we go.  _

Incredibly irritated, Phryne asked again, “Where is he?”

“He went for a walk some time ago, maybe two hours now. I must say I can't blame him for needing fresh air after you abandoned him with us for the day. Where have you been?” Phryne's hair prickled at the back of her neck.

“Mother, I didn't realize you’d be home so soon, and he was tired! He needed rest after his journey.”

“Phryne, if you're going to have a real relationship with a man, you're going to need to stop thinking of only yourself.”

She thought she could hear her blood pounding through her head. She and her mother had been having a nice time in England so far… the past differences had seemed like old wounds. But the last thing her mother needed was more fuel on the married-with-children fire.

“Mother! I have a ward, I'm an adult. I don’t always think about myself, and I'm NOT in a relationship!”

Phryne was seriously regretting not buying the steamer tickets today. This was going to be insufferable. At least if Jack came back, her mother would need to behave.

“So, you wouldn’t call an engagement a relationship?” her mother gave her the most dubious of grins.

_ Whaaat?  _ Phryne panicked for a moment, heart pounding. Jack had told her parents they were engaged? Did he not understand it was just to divert away other men in England? She had been perfectly clear with him that it was just a ruse.

_ Where is he? _

Just then, she heard the door behind her.

“Have you been back for long?” He really did have the sexiest voice she’d ever heard. So low, and understated, and gravelly, and polite, and quiet, and absolute perfection when he said he loved her. She spun around.

“Jack!” She couldn’t help the huge smile from spreading across her face, despite whatever he’d told her parents. “I assume you met my mother before you left.”

“Of course,” he said. She noticed the look that passed between Jack and her mother. 

_ What did these two talk about? This can't be good. _

“Well,” her mother said, “we really need to get ready for a dinner party tonight. Only old people will be there, I'm afraid, you wouldn't enjoy yourselves at all. Please, have fun, go out on the town,” then she narrowed her eyes at Jack, “and stay as long as you like, stay forever.”

Phryne almost pushed her out of the room. Why did she have to be so … obvious about everything. When she saw Jack smile with only a hint of a blush, she reconsidered that maybe he liked feeling so welcome in her family.

When they were well out of earshot, Jack’s jaw clenched, and his voice became sharp, seething - even though his words remained restrained. It reminded her of when he harshly chastised her for clogging his exhaust pipe with her stocking. “I take it my presence didn’t keep you from your investigations? How’s Scotland Yard these days?”

“Oh Jack, you were tired,” she said flippantly, trying to shrug off his anger. “I wanted to let you sleep while I just took a first peek at everything.” He stared at her stoically, she knew he would not wallow in drama for long, but she could also tell he was annoyed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, surrendering. “I had no idea they would come back so early. I never would have left you here if I knew you’d have to spend the day with my parents alone.”

His lips curled up. “Not alone, in fact. I also had the pleasure of meeting several of your suitors.”

She couldn’t help herself, her surprised giggle turned into a full belly laugh when she thought of Jack entertaining the noble and penniless men itching to form an alliance with her. 

With that, the ice cracked, and Jack chuckled. “So, did you find anything good?”

“No, you first, who were the suitors? What did you talk about?”

“Nothing interesting, that’s for sure. Your mother is charming, though, I did enjoy meeting her.”

Phryne rolled her eyes, “Oh, she can turn it on when it suits her. Who came over?” she asked again.

Jack looked upwards, trying to remember names. “The Viscount of Eversley…”

“Oh Phil,” Phryne said, then whispered in a sing-songy voice, “boooring.”

“...and your special friend, the Earl of Rawdon.”

“Oh James!” Phryne said surprised. “He was probably stopping by to see how I’d come along on the case today.”

“What?” asked Jack, confused.

“Turns out that he’s the main financier of the Opera. I ran into him today backstage, while I was snooping. Instead of turning me out, he hired me to solve the murder. It seems that these types of ‘theatrics’ are bad for business. I talked him up to 25% of the profits if I solve it!”

“Doesn’t seem like he’d part with that amount of money too easily.”

She shook her head in agreement and gave him a mischievous smile.

“My favorite part of the afternoon,” said Jack with one eyebrow raised, “was when James Rawdon informed your parents that we were engaged.”

“Oh, that explains it. I was wondering how my mother found out about that. You didn’t tell her it was a ruse?”

“How could I, right in front of the main target of the lie?”

“Very good point,” she conceded. “Well, I’ll just have to break it to her… later. But first,” she smiled. “I have so much to tell you.” She loved this part of an investigation. She quickly filled him in on everything she’d uncovered during her day, both at the Opera house, and at Scotland Yard. The last detail she described was Morse’s slip on telling her how the bodies had been mutilated.

“Throat, breasts, and belly?” Jack asked, his eyes narrowing. “Phryne, there’s something I need to tell you as well. I read the paper this morning and saw the account on Virginia Brown. These cases… they seem extremely similar to cases I investigated in Australia. In fact, they are too similar, they feel like the same murderer.”

“What?” said Phryne, aghast.

“There were six murders in Melbourne. All the victims were young, single mothers, and all working as models. They were all slashed on the throat, breasts, and belly, and all the mutilations were consistent. The breasts and abdomen were slashed with “x” marks, and the throat was cut last. Phryne, if it’s the same person, he’s an absolute madman.”

She took a moment to consider this development.

“Was this before I arrived in Australia? Why don’t I know about this?”

“Well,” he thought for a minute, “no. I will have to check my file, but I think at least some of them were after you arrived.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the cases, or why did I hear about them in the paper? I don’t remember a serial murderer on the loose.”

“Well, it was quite a while ago. I wasn’t telling you about all my cases when we first started working together. We were also on orders to keep the serial nature of the murders quiet. I didn’t agree with this, but Sanderson and the Commissioner thought it would do more to incite panic than it would help to solve the murders. So they were all reported as separate murders, and the links were never disclosed to the press.”

“So,” she followed that train of thought, “it’s unlikely that this could be a copycat killer, if the only people that know the connections were in the Victoria Police Force.”

“Exactly, it has to be him,” he said in earnest.

“Jack, it seems that the murders are following YOU after all, not me.”

He nodded grimly.

“I’ve sent a telegram to Hugh to send me my file by airmail. I want to deliver it to Scotland Yard to help them in any way I can.”

“That’s a good idea. Chief Inspector Morse does seem very efficient and open to help. Did you know …” she teased, “... that he cleared the crime scene overnight? Quite a bit faster than your team at City South.”

“Should I be worried about another inspector in your life?” he smiled, playing along.

“I don’t know, you may want to accompany me to the station in the future.”

“I will do so,” he promised.

“But it’s too late in the day to go over there right now, and besides, I have some investigating to do tonight.”

“More investigating?”

“Of course!” she said. “At Brooks’ Gentleman’s Club!” 

He frowned, “Aren't ladies prohibited?”

“Oh,” she smirked mercilessly. “You're thinking of the very respectable and famous club on St James. I'm talking about the decidedly less reputable one of the same name on the other side of the river. Both sexes are permitted, although calling them all ‘ladies’ and ‘gentlemen’ is probably a stretch, if you know what I mean.”

He sighed.

*****

About an hour later, they were both dressed and in the cab. Phryne wore a long, light-fabric black cape to cover up her ensemble. She looked over and drank up the sight of Jack dressed  _ in cognito _ , in the best she could do for a workman’s grubby outfit. He had on old stained trousers, scuffed shoes, a tweed vest, braces, and an uncollared shirt, all of which she’d lifted from her parent’s gardener. She made a mental note to buy some new clothes for the poor gardiner. Jack looked rugged and delicious. He had insisted on wearing his fedora, though, the one she’d given him. She loved that he refused to wear anything else on his head.

“I wish you’d let me see what you’re wearing,” he said.

“That would ruin the surprise,” she said, her face in a wicked grin. “Don’t worry, it’s the perfect costume; no one will suspect I’m a baron’s daughter!”

“That’s not exactly what I’m worried about,” he said, smirking in resignation.

“I’ve also got my gun in this cute little fringed handbag, and most importantly, I’ve got a very strong, manly policeman following me into the club to watch over me.” They both exchanged their signature looks at each other.

The cab pulled up a block away from the club.

“As usual…” she began.

“I’ll give you a good head start,” he finished. 

She squeezed his hand. “I think I’m going to like having you on the unofficial side of the investigation for a change.” She jumped out, and hurried down the street to enter the club.

The “club” looked like nothing from the outside and the first floor: an abandoned warehouse. After climbing up a pair of rickety metal stairs, Phryne pulled back a heavy velvet curtain to reveal a heavy, sound-concealing door. She knocked, and a small window opened in the door.

“Yes,” a large man’s face appeared.

“‘Allo,” she slipped back into her old pure Collingwood accent. “I’m fresh from down under and lookin’ for work. ‘eard ye’ve got an openin’.”

The door pulled open, and music poured out of the club. The man eyed her in her cloak.

“The bossman will have to take a look at you, but first, let me see.”

She defiantly thrust her cloak open, revealing the outfit she was so incredibly glad she’d tossed in her suitcase on a complete whim: the tiny pale pink feather skirt, with the low, silver-jeweled, v-shaped waistband - the one that Dot had stitched for her fan dance. She wore with it a brassiere made out of silver jeweled chains, with matching pale pink feather triangles covering her breasts. She hadn’t needed the top for her fan dance, but Dot had insisted on making her a complete outfit at the time, nonetheless. This time, she wore the skirt with mid-thigh stockings, which were strapped with white garter ties to tiny panties beneath the fringed feathers. She topped it off with the jeweled shoulder piece she wore during her fan dance. She’d dropped this outfit in her luggage on the chance she’d want some play time with a man during her travels, but this evening meant the outfit was far more useful than she’d hoped. Silver, strappy heels completed the look.

The doorman’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “Aren’t you ready for fun...” he said with a disgusting sneer. He reached behind her to gather up her cloak and hold it away from her body. “Turn around, lemme see yer backside.” She turned and gave her ass a little wiggle in the skirt. “Boss’ll be happy with me for bringing  _ you  _ up.”

He took her by the arm and led her through a surprisingly cozy-looking warm club with a full jazz band, into a back office.

“Boss, got a new girl - I think you’ll like’r,” the doorman made his exit as soon as showing Phryne in.

A middle-aged, bespectacled, well-dressed, bookish-looking man looked up from his account books, peering over his glasses at Phryne.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m here to work,” she said. “I heard you’re down a girl.”

“I see, and how did you find out about that?” he asked.

“Oh, some men down the pub,” she answered. “They were sad about that poor Virginia girl, but I thought you could use some help,” she improvised quickly, “and I need more money to feed my babies.” She thought she’d flush out here and now whether this club operator was one of her suspects.

“Hmm,” he said, “take your cloak off.” She brushed it back to her shoulders again. “Completely,” he said. She unclasped the garment at her throat and let it fall to the floor.

“Good,” he said, letting his eyes rake up and down her body. “Now, turn.” She gave him the same wiggle she’d given the doorman.

“Very good, I like the outfit. Now take it off.” Phryne panicked just a little, trying to keep her cool.

“I only perform for paying customers, mister. I never give side action to the pimps. That’s my deal - you can take it or leave it.”

“Oh relax, I’m thoroughly not interested in your kind,” he said, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “You’d never guess what kind of freaks I get in here, so I need to inspect you and make sure you have all the right parts.”

She gingerly slid the bra top up to reveal her breasts, and she just barely pushed the skirt down to reveal her nether regions, not fully removing either piece of clothing.

He got up, sighing at the effort. He felt her breasts, and put one hand down to lightly probe her female parts. This was decidedly NOT as civilized a club as Madam Lyon’s was.

He sat back down, satisfied, although Phryne thought it was correct that he showed no pleasure in his task. Perhaps he was a homosexual? Or maybe, he was so disgusted by whores (his stock and trade) that he liked to murder them?

“You seem familiar. Spent any time in Australia?” she asked.

“What? No,” he seemed distracted and annoyed by her question. “Now listen, have you worked in a club like this before?”

“Yes sir, down under.”

“And you’re willing to let the men do whatever they want to you?” he asked.

“Of course, that’s what gets the good tips.”

“Well, we deal the tips out at the end of the night, so you make sure any money you get goes back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have a device? I don’t make much money when the girls get knocked up.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now, the rules are: the Johns can dance with you for free, but no touching beneath the clothes until they’ve paid. And no private rooms until they’ve paid. They pay one price to touch you with your clothes off, and they pay another price to take their clothes off and do more. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ve got men in the club who can collect the money - just signal them over. Ok, go on, you’re hired.”

Phryne felt decidedly dirty. This was definitely the most violating job interview she’d ever had in her years of going undercover. She was going to have to look into this man.

“What’s your name, boss? Just in case I need to call for you.”

“You won’t, but it’s Thurber. Now, go make some money for both of us.”

She picked up her cloak and handbag off the floor and wandered back into the main room. Spotting another girl who didn’t look too drunk, she whispered, “Hey, I’m new. Is there a place for me to stash my coat?”

The girl eyed her, “Come with me.”

In the dressing room, the girl pointed to a cabinet. “Here, use Virginia’s space,” she said. “She won’t be needin’ it.”

“Is that the girl that was killed?” asked Phryne, innocently.

“Yeah, horrible death,” the girl confirmed.

“Do you think anyone ‘round here did it?” Phryne looked fearful.

“Who knows,” the girl said, “there’s so many sleazy Johns in here every night, it could be any of ‘em. I’d tell you not to start up with this, if you know what’s good for ya’. The money’ll keep you comin’ back, but it’s a nasty way of life. I’m trying to get out m’self. Thurber doesn’t care about us, just ‘is money. I heard he wouldn’t even let the coppers in to investigate yet. He’s makin’ ‘em come back with a warrant. What a greedy piece of work, he is. You’d think he’d wanna keep the rest of us alive to keep the cash coming in.”

“Do you think he did it?” Phryne asked.

“Nah, I don’t think he could hurt a fly when all is said and done. I actually think he’s a puff. He’s..., girly, like, and he never shows any interest in any of us. Besides, Virginia made him lots o’ cash, she was quite a favorite.”

Phryne nodded, her suspicions confirmed about Thurber’s proclivities. Although that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a murderer, she guessed that would take any sexual element out of the murders. It was hard to believe that there was no sexual element at all in any of these slasher murders of lovely young women, but she supposed it was possible. Still, she could read liars pretty well, and she thought he was being truthful about never having been to Australia.

“Any Johns in particular that you think might have done it?” she asked. “Have you ever seen him ‘round here?” she pulled a picture of Colin Masters, clipped from the Opera playbill, out of her purse. “He’s an old boyfriend of mine… nasty… used to beat me. I just wanna make sure he doesn’t come ‘ere before I start workin.’”

“No, never seen ‘em, and I been here a long time.”

“Good,” said Phryne. “Well, I’m just gonna freshen up a bit.” The girl returned to the dance floor, and Phryne bent to rummage through Virginia’s locker. She tossed the clothes on the floor, finding black-feathered handcuffs, lubricating massage oil, and a very small, battery-operated personal massager.

_ Very interesting. She either liked what she did, or she needed some extra help to get herself good and ready for the men so she wouldn’t be in pain. _

Phryne hoped the former, but feared the latter. She washed the massager in the sink, and stowed the interesting items (handcuffs, oil, and massager) into her handbag. Those could be useful tonight, she thought with a mischievous grin. She folded her cloak and shoved it, along with Virginia’s clothes back into the cabinet, when her fingers caught on a small piece of thick paper in the bottom corner of the cabinet. She pulled out a personal card.

HENRY STONE

PORTRAITS, LANDSCAPES

She gasped, the coincidence rattling her. She, Phryne, used to sit for Henry Stone in Paris. She couldn’t believe he was still painting.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night,” said a voice at the door. It was the man she’d met at the door. “Get out here.” 

Phryne slipped the card into her bag, smiled brightly, winked at the man, and strode out the door, hoping he wasn’t going to tell her to leave her bag in the dressing room. She thought it swung seductively enough around her hips that it added to the ensemble.

She was pleased to see Jack standing at the bar as soon as she exited the dressing room. 

“Hey, mister, you’re handsome,” she said. 

She sidled up next to him, and he remained completely still as he surveyed her outfit. Too still… his jaw clenched. Then, he swallowed hard and ordered for them both. 

“I had to pay a bloody fortune to get in here,” he whispered low and in her ear.

“Well, we’ll have to make it worth your while then, won't we,” she said, loud enough for others to hear. “Fancy a dance?”

They swayed slowly while sipping their drinks, and discussed Phryne’s findings while pretending to flirt.

Finally, she said, “we need to dance with some of the others for a bit and ask some more questions. Just be sure to hire me if another John is getting too fresh.”

They split up, both dancing with others. Phryne continually hinted at a way to bring up Virginia, but didn't get very much information at all from the Johns. She noticed that it seemed much easier for Jack to switch from partner to partner, he just needed to show more interest in another girl. However, Phryne couldn’t just give clients the brush-off very easily, so she had to excuse herself to go to the ladies’ room several times, and go back to the bar to get herself several drinks. She was relishing, though, the restrained looks of jealousy she got from Jack whenever a new man started pawing at her.

“The girls aren’t supposed to get too pissed,” the bartender hissed at her.

“Oh relax, I can hold my drink,” Phryne said, hushing him up.

“Is that so?” a large, burly man said to her right. “That’s pretty hot - I think you’re the hottest piece of ass in here tonight. Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Sure am,” Phryne said. “Wanna dance?” He followed her to the dance floor. “I’m here to replace that Virginia girl that got killed. Did you know her?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m gonna miss that one - she was real sweet. Always let me do all kinds of things to her - very tolerant, ya’ know.” Phryne inwardly shuddered, and tried to keep her face stoic. 

“Awful what happened to her - d’you think someone here did it?”

“Most of the guys in here are good blokes - I know ‘em all from the factory. We mostly all work for the one next door. I tell you what, if I found out it was one of the guys here, I’d kill ‘em. I think most of the guys here feel the same way about you girls. We take care of our own, in our own way. So don’t you worry your head about a thing, little missy.” He had danced her right across the floor over towards the private rooms. “Let’s just step in here for a minute, we need to get you initiated.”

She caught Jack’s eye across the room and gave him a wide-eyed look, grateful that he was watching her so closely. He was at her side in a flash.

“Excuse me, I think I have the honors tonight,” Jack said confidently.

“How so?” the man asked, “Who are you?”

Jack said, “The lady promised her first time would be with me... and I’m paying extra.”

One of the club workers was upon them in a flash.

“What’s going on here?”

“This bloke thinks he can steal the new girl out from under me!” the burly man exclaimed.

“I’m paying extra for her,” Jack said quietly to the club worker. The club worker sized up the situation accurately and cunningly.

“It’ll be 5 pounds for her tonight,” he said. 

The burly man looked outraged, “That’s double the normal rate!”

“Well, demand is high,” the man said accurately.

“Fine,” said the burly man, “I’ll pay it.”

“I’ll pay 10 pounds,” said Jack quietly. Phryne was trying very hard to keep from giggling. This was just too good. Jack was jealous and enraged and keeping it all so buttoned up. He opened up his wallet and shelled out what was probably all the money he had left for the rest of his trip.

The burly man looked disappointed, but surprised Phryne by suddenly brightening into an amiable smile, clapping Jack on the back, and saying, “well, when you’re that struck with a broad, I say go for it. Hope she’s worth that price tag.” Phryne and Jack ducked into the private room, which was really more of a curtained alcove. It was very similar to Madam Lyon’s private rooms back in Melbourne, although a bit smaller. They both sat on the small sofa.

“Jack, I haven’t learned anything else useful. We may have exhausted our sources for the evening…”

He didn’t let her finish before pulling her over him to straddle his lap, and devouring her mouth with an urgent kiss. He rubbed his hands up and down her bare back, and circled her tongue with his. She felt his erection hit her tender spot, and she was immediately primed for his attentions. She pressed into him fully, and melted into his kiss. When he broke off to lick down her jaw and neck, she said, “Inspector, I didn’t think you’d be so willing in such a seedy, public place. I think people out there might be able to hear us over the music.”

“I’m getting my money’s worth tonight,” he said, smirking. “What did you expect when you wore this damned outfit,” he said, taking both straps of her brassiere and snapping them off. Several beads rolled around the floor. “Are you trying to drive me completely insane?”

“Perhaps... Dot is going to be crushed, she worked so hard on these straps!”

“She can take it up with me,” he murmured, as he pushed the feathers down and started licking one of her nipples. He reached up to massage the other breast with his hand.

She gasped. “I have NEVER given up sex for money before, Inspector, but I just can't help being very… excited right now.”

"You shouldn't be," he said, his voice firm, but with a small smirk. “You’ve been very bad today, and you deserve to be punished.”

She felt her womb convulse. This was going to be fun. She never would have guessed that Jack would be so sexually adventurous. He did seem to pause, looking into her eyes. She knew he was asking for her permission.

“In that case, Detective Inspector Robinson, you may want to use the item I have in my bag.”

His eyes widened, and he reached down to grab her bag off the floor. He pulled out the handcuffs, chuckling softly.

“It’s about time you clapped me in irons, Inspector. Lord knows, I’m well overdue for a censure.”

He stood up, carrying her on his lap, and spun around to deposit her on the sofa. Then, he took the upper parts of both of her arms, lifting them directly overhead. He handcuffed both her hands to a metal light fixture on the wall, giving off a soft glow. She shuddered at his expert skill in deftly and quickly cuffing her to the wall. She was panting and heaving by now. Her chest was utterly exposed, with her bra pushed down, and her arms raised so that her breasts were hoisted up together, pointing straight ahead. She was half sitting up, and half lying down, with her shoulders on the back of the sofa, her hips on the very edge of the seat, and her arms attached to the wall above her. Jack stood between her open legs, with her pink feather skirt just barely covering her.

She saw him lick his lips and admire his work.  His face was flushed, and his hair tumbled down in his eyes.  He was breathing heavily, and she thought he never looked so gorgeous.

She leaned up to kiss his mouth, but he pulled away. She strained to follow him, but tugged on her wrists, and felt a tenderness as the unrelenting metal dug into her tendons.

“Ouch,” she said.

He looked at her intently, in consternation.

“Are you ok? Is this ok? Does it hurt?”

“Yes, it’s fine,” she said. “I like it… I actually love it. Keep going - I’ll tell you to stop if I need to.”

He gave her a serious look, and reached behind her, releasing her bra entirely. He pulled it up, to lift the feathers up over her eyes. He tied the silver string behind her head, enveloping her in darkness. Her panting intensified. 

“I’m going to do to you everything that I wanted to do at Madam Lyon’s,” he growled in her ear.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He slid a finger in her mouth, and she sucked it. Then he ran it over her lips, then down the center of her throat all the way to her sternum. When he reached her breasts, he must have licked his own fingers, for suddenly there were two wet thumbs (she thought) circling her nipples firmly, then pressing down right on the center of her nipples. She gave a whimper. Then she felt the exquisite sensation of his tongue on her right nipple, thrashing and licking and sucking, while his hands curled around her back to hold her close. Her clit started to throb just with his tongue on her nipple. He moved to the other nipple, and attended to it until she was shuddering and wildly bucking her hips. 

Finally, he moved his mouth down to her belly, trailing his tongue down the middle line, stopping to swirl it into her navel. When he reached the top of her skirt, he stopped and appeared to have gotten up. She whimpered in disappointment.

Then she felt him again at her feet. He removed her shoes, and began kissing her through her stockings all the way up her legs. She gave a purr at feeling his mouth on the ticklish parts of her feet, and on the backs of her knees. When he reached the top of her stockings, he ran his fingers along the tops, inside the stockings, then with his middle fingers and thumbs, ran his hands all the way up to her panties, beneath her garter fastenings in both the back and the front. He didn’t waste much time before ripping the fastenings off. He then started lightly tracing around the inside of the edge of her panties. She bucked her hips again, impatient for him to move to her core.

“Patience, Miss Fisher,” he growled.

He went away again. She was panting and itching to touch herself, or him, or participate in this in any way.

Suddenly she felt something very cold and wet on both nipples. She squeaked her surprise.

“You had more tricks in that bag,” he said, and she realized he was using the oil on her nipples. She tried to regulate her breathing, to relax and focus on enjoying the sensation, but it was getting to be too much. She was throbbing now and needed him to touch her.

“Please,” she said.

“No,” he said. “Tonight, I decide.”

She was simultaneously thrilled and frustrated. She bucked her hips again in need. She could hear him chuckling above her.

After a thorough rubbing on her breasts, he moved his slick hands down once again to feel inside her skirt and panties. 

_ Finally,  _ she thought, as one of his fingers slid down against her lips.

“Is this what you want?” he asked. She nodded vigorously at the feeling of his oiled fingers against her wet sex, and then he abruptly removed his hand. She was starting to realize what Jack’s form of punishment was going to be. She felt utterly raw and thrilled and needy all at once.

She felt his hands up underneath her skirt, take her panties and pull them down, so that she was left only with the tiny feather skirt and her stockings. He put his hands on the insides of both thighs and spread her legs as wide as they would go. Her center was absolutely quivering with anticipation. She could feel his hot breath on her core, and her insides clenched. Instead of his tongue, she then felt the extremely light of his oiled fingers as he began stroking her, ever so lightly, starting at the top of her lips and traveling all the way down to her opening, and then back up again. She tried to lean into him to increase the pressure, but he lifted up, never really giving her what she wanted. She moaned and groaned with pleasure. 

Finally, he sank three fingers inside her folds to stroke along the same path, but more deeply. The sensation was exquisite. Her nerves were heightened and completely frazzled, and every time he hit her pleasure spot, she thought she might explode, but he never kept his fingers there for very long, quickly moving along to keep her in agony.

Her stomach and thighs clenched sharply. She thought she might come anyway, even though he was just giving her slightly less than she wanted or needed. As soon as she tensed, he stopped his stroking. She cried out in frustration.

“Jack!” she cried. He didn’t respond, but penetrated one finger inside her, moving in and out, completely neglecting her throbbing clit. After a few pumps, he added two fingers, and then three, working up to a very fast pace. She was wildly bucking her hips, and straining her arms. She had an intense urge to reach a finger down. All it would take would be one touch to her clit, and she’d be over the edge. 

Suddenly he stopped.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” she screamed in want and frustration. 

“Everything ok in here?” she heard a voice say. It was one of the other girls.

_ Oh god, someone heard her. _

“Yes,” she called, “we’re just playing a game, it’s completely fine.”

“Freak,” she heard the girl mutter under her breath. Jack left her, presumably to close and secure the curtain once again.

_ He’s going to be too rattled to continue - that’s got to be a first for Jack. _

“Am I going to have to muzzle you as well Miss Fisher?” he whispered in her ear. She was relieved to hear the teasing, playful note in his voice. The interruption hadn’t seemed to bother him, in fact, he sounded even more mischievous.

She felt him reach up and readjust her handcuffs, twisting her hands around. Then she felt him lift her up, and turn her over, placing her belly against the edge of the sofa, knees on the floor, with her hands still cuffed up above the sofa back. She smiled in spite of her desperate need of release. She always knew he was intelligent, but he was proving to be an incredibly fast learner. She was still panting, and her heart was racing about a mile a minute. She felt him flip up the edge of her feather skirt and lightly rub his hand on her bare ass. The first strike was very soft and playful.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” she panted wantonly, “harder.”

He hesitated, rubbing her buttocks, and letting his fingers travel down to stroke her clit from behind. “You did leave me with your parents all day today,” he said, teasing still. She laughed as another, more firm stroke came down from his hand to her bare ass.

“Mmmmm, yes,” she said. He again let his fingers trail down to circle her clit, and she felt she would explode. Just when she clenched up and squeezed her thighs over his hand, he’d pull his hand up and spank her soundly, stopping her orgasm. This happened more times than she could count. She thought she would lose her mind. Her ass was getting sore, but it somehow felt incredibly good. Every sensation was peaked.

“Oh Gooooddddddd…” she moaned.

“Do you want me to stop?” Jack’s voice sounded unsure.

“No! Keep going! I need to come - I need to come now!”

He adjusted her handcuffs and flipped her back onto her back. She felt sure he would have mercy on her and let her finish now. How long could he last before he’d need his own release? 

She felt his breath again on her parts, then she felt one quick tongue flick across her clit. She clenched. She just needed a little bit more, just a little bit. He stopped.  Then she felt his tongue start at her opening, licking all the way up to her electric spot, and then past it, before traveling back down.  After only two or three of these passes, she clenched her legs very strongly around his head, and he stopped again, shaking off her legs, and rising up from his place on the floor.  

It seemed like he had gone away for a long time when she heard an electronic buzz.

_ The massager.  Maybe he wasn't so traumatized by the Chinese brothel. _

She felt a vibrating motion pass around her breasts, and touch each nipple. She flinched with the sensation. The vibrating sensation traveled down the center of her belly, and then flipped over to the hollow between her thigh and mound, tickling her up and down across her sensitive skin. Then the sensation traveled to the hollow on the other side of her groin. She had lost the ability to speak, and the only thing she could think about was the pulsing, throbbing bundle of nerves aching for more of his touch. 

He used his fingers to close her lips, running the vibrator along the outside of her pelvic area. She again tried to lean in, but was unsuccessful. He pulled back again, only ever giving her nether regions the slightest of touches with the machine. He held it against her opening for a few seconds, bringing stars to her eyes. Then went back to lightly tracing the outside of her labia. She thought she might come without even any direct contact to her clitoris - that would be a first. He continued this pattern a few times, before she simply clenched up entirely - an orgasm was about to overtake her very shortly no matter what either of them did. 

He completely stopped, and she felt him leave from between her legs. She heaved and twisted, feeling with her legs for where he had gone, but she thought she heard him fumbling with his clothes. Finally, she felt his erection at her entrance. 

I’ve been wanting to fuck you in this skirt ever since I saw that damn fan dance,” he growled in her ear.

“Yesssss,” she pleaded. He sank completely in her, and she could hear his grunt of pleasure above her. As he withdrew, and then immediately plunged in again, she could feel his one knee inside her legs on the sofa. She imagined he was kneeling with one knee on the couch, and standing with the other leg, hovering above her in the tight quarters. It was a perfect angle - hitting her inside and outside at all the right places. After an erratic couple of thrusts, she knew he must be incredibly close as well. She once more desperately wanted to reach her hand down, and was prevented by the handcuffs. She bucked, and whined, and clenched her legs completely around Jack’s butt, meeting him thrust for thrust. And then, she heard the buzzing again.

_ Please, please, please. _

As Jack pounded into her, he reached between them with the small device, placing it squarely and firmly on her most sensitive place. 

She didn’t trust it - this was exactly what she needed, but she thought it would be pulled away at any moment. It wasn’t: he held it firmly in place, the vibrations rattling her whole being. Her insides finally, FINALLY, clenched almost to the point of pain, and she wailed as the intensely powerful contractions came crashing down on her. 

As her body racked with vibrations, Jack’s pounding sped up. Every muscle she had was held taut, and every inch of skin swollen and on fire - inside and out. She thought about asking him to stop, but she couldn’t deny him after the intense pleasure she’d just received. He’d removed the machine, but after a few minutes more of fucking her furiously, he placed it back right on the perfect spot. At first, she recoiled, the sensation just too much. But he held it firm, and suddenly, the feeling of him pounding against her internal pleasure spot combined with the vibrations on her clit instantly rocketed her to the point of peak sensation once again. She wanted to touch her breasts, but all she could do was make fists and strain every muscle in her hands and arms and throughout her whole body.  She hummed and moaned with intensity, as, for the second time, she felt a powerful orgasm start in her womb and ripple through her entire body. 

With the second wave of pulsing, Jack collapsed on top of her, grunting his primal satisfaction over and over in her ear. She could feel the hot rush of him inside her.

“Are you going to be good now?” he asked, still teasing with his typical dry humor, as he immediately reached up to release her restraints.

She lifted up her blindfold, finally meeting his gaze.

“Absolutely not,” she grinned cheekily, “that was incredible.”

He kissed her slowly and thoroughly.

“Time’s up, pal; you can’t stay all night, or we’ll have to charge you again,” said the club worker. 

Jack, with his back to the curtain, gave her the most exasperated look she’d seen from him in a long time. “Let’s go,” he whispered.

“We’re done,” announced Phryne. She fastened her bra again, minus the shoulder straps, and collected her shoes and panties. Jack hurried to dress, and fit everything back in her bag, including the painter’s card and gun. 

“Meet you outside,” he said. “If you can’t get out of here in ten minutes, I’m coming back in after you.”

She dashed back to the dressing room, collected her cloak, and searched through the cabinet one more time. At the door, she gave the doorman her best exhausted look (it wasn’t hard). “I’m dyin’ for a smoke break; I’ll be back.”

She found Jack loitering just outside the door, and she took his hand. They started briskly walking towards the main road, when she heard a low voice from behind them, “What do you think you’re doing?” They turned, with Jack standing between Phryne and Thurber, Thurber’s bespectacled eyes blazing, gun aimed at them.

“You can’t leave with one of my girls; what kind of place do you think this is?”

“Easy Thurber,” Phryne had taken the moment that Jack was hiding her to fish her gun out of her bag, and now she reached around Jack to point it squarely at their assailant. “I’m going with him of my own free will.”

“That’s not how this works. He needs to pay, and you can’t keep all the money.”

“We’re leaving, and that’s the end of it,” said Jack in a quiet voice. Both parties stared at each other for a few minutes, until Thurber lowered his gun, and walked away. Jack put his arm around her as they hurried into the night.

She looked up worshipfully at his handsome, chiseled face as they walked away; she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of this man. He gave her a sideways smirk. “You were worth 10 pounds, but more was pushing it.” She laughed heartily into the darkness, and tucked into him for warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up the inflation, and 10 pounds in 1929 is about 500 pounds now. So, it's a pricey night for Jack.


	9. Fighting Phryne

_ He dreamt that he was lying next to her, admiring her porcelain skin, her cheeks, the way her bangs parted while she slept to reveal her whole face.  Then, just as he was falling off to sleep, he realized there was something warm and sticky on his hand.  He looked first at his hand, wet with something dark, then he looked back at her and slowly lifted the covers away from her chin. _

_ Her neck was cut from ear to ear, and huge blood stains appeared on her chest and belly. _

_ NO! _

_ He suddenly couldn't move, he should apply pressure, check for a pulse, but his limbs would not obey, and he just stared at her in horror.  His heart was pumping; he thought he'd be sick. _

_ Suddenly her eyes flashed open. _

_ “Jack, help me,” she whispered. _

“Jack!”  He woke with a jolt and a cry.  “Jack, wake up.  You're scaring me.”

“Uhhnngh,” he said, curling her up into his arms.  “It was just a bad dream.”

She stared at him, eyes searching.  “Tell me, what was it?” she asked softly.

“I can't remember,” he lied.

*****

At breakfast, they learned that the British press was not as easily quieted as their counterparts in Melbourne.  News of the injuries had been leaked, and the front page had the shocking headline:  JACK THE RIPPER II ON THE LOOSE.  The article detailed the injuries, and listed the tally of victims as Virginia Brown, Beverly Miles, and a new victim from the previous afternoon, Myrtle Riley, another artist’s model.   

“I don’t think I can wait for the file from Hugh; I should go tell the police about the connection with the Melbourne case.  They are losing another girl each day.”  He pressed his lips together as Phryne surveyed him quietly.

He stared at his tea and toast, hands in his lap, head swimming with all the gory and tragic memories of the biggest case in his career where he’d still come up short, after all this time.  After a few minutes, he felt warm fingers entangle themselves into his.

*****

“Well, Miss Fisher, I guess this is your show,” Jack said as he stood outside looking up to the massive door into Scotland Yard.  

Phryne was dressed to kill, as usual, in a long wool coat of deep red, with a matching red beret hat, over a camel-colored close-fitting sheath dress with a dropped waist.  

“Oh, don’t fret, Jack.  They were just as easy to infiltrate yesterday as City South was.”  

“I have no doubt you’ll succeed - that’s not what I’m worried about,” Jack responded.

“ _ We’ll _ succeed, don’t you mean?” asked Phryne, as Jack pulled open the heavy door for her, and they passed into the  Edwardian Imperial red brick and stone building.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Constable,” Phryne crooned, and the constable flushed, even if he gave Jack some hesitant looks.  “We were looking for Chief Inspector Morse.”

“Right,” said the constable affably.

“You do work quickly,” Jack whispered into her ear.  They were whisked into an interview room to wait for the detective.

“Inspector Robinson, Miss Fisher,” Morse greeted both of them briskly.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well,” began Jack, “I read the papers this morning, and I thought I could provide some help with the investigation, strangely enough, from one of the cases I worked on in Melbourne.”

“I see,” Morse said slowly, without a speck of surprise registering in his eyes.  “That’s very helpful of you.  Perhaps we could discuss your prior case while one of my constables goes over a few things with Miss Fisher.”

Jack looked at Phryne, surprised.

“That’s fine, although I’m sure we can all discuss the case together.”

“Yes, well it would be most helpful if she could help my constable determine a few things while we talk.  We are very pressed for time with victims mounting up each day.”

“Of course,” said Jack, feeling like an ass.  

_ Of course.  They’re just trying to be efficient.  They’ve got a serial killer on the loose.   _

Phryne was led off while Morse closed the door.

“It seems crazy, but there are many similarities to this case with one that I was assigned to in Melbourne.  In fact, I think it might be the same perpetrator.”

Chief Inspector Morse silently looked at Jack, urging him to speak more.  Jack detailed everything he could remember about the model slasher cases in Melbourne, but as he described the similarities, he couldn’t help but notice how stoic Morse’s face remained in the face of such a surprising coincidence.

“That is quite a case to have worked on back home.  Thank you for bringing this to our attention.  So, are you here on holiday?”

“Yes.”

“To propose to Miss Fisher?”

_ Word had traveled remarkably fast. _

“Yes, well, er,” Jack hesitated, and Morse’s eyebrows shot up.  “You see, it’s somewhat of a fake engagement.  She’s … opposed to marriage, but she wanted to say we were engaged to help her fend off all the advancements she’s received since arriving back in England.”

“I see, but you are … her intimate friend?”

Jack flushed, “Yes, but I don’t really see how this is going to help you with this case.”

“I do apologize,” Morse said, “but you know how it is.  I’m just trying to gain a full background and understanding of both of you since you are such important witnesses to my case.  You were on the scene with one of the victims and you claim to have previously investigated the perpetrator in Melbourne.  Surely you understand I can’t have any surprises when it comes to your movements and dealings.”

_ Of course, just relax. _

“So the sole purpose of your travels to England was to visit Miss Fisher?”

“Yes.”

“According to my records, she arrived in England by plane on September 23?”

“Yes, I understand it was covered by the press.”

“Indeed, quite a remarkable flight. And you arrived on October 14th?”

“Uh,” Jack thought back for a few minutes.  It was unnerving to lose track of his dates, but being away from work had taken all business out of his head.  “I believe that’s correct.”

“It’s the 17th today.”

“Yes, yes, three days ago - the 14th.”

“When did your ship arrive?”

“First thing, I believe around 8 AM.”

“So then you …”

“I hired a cab and drove up to London - to Belgravia,” Jack really did understand the need for details, but this was getting tiresome.

“And you arrived at the Baron’s residence at what time precisely?”

“Well, not until evening, probably around 9 PM.”

“I see,” Morse looked confused, “so what were you doing all day?”

“Not much,” Jack said.  “I had tea, I walked past her house a few times.  I was really nervous.  You see, we weren’t really … together … in Australia.  So traveling here was somewhat of a … grand romantic gesture.  I suppose I was gathering my nerves.”

“So, your … gesture … was well-received?”

“Uh, yes.”  Jack could feel his face on fire.

“Whose idea was it to attend the opera?”

“Phryne’s - she already had the tickets.”

“I thought she didn’t know you were coming to England.”

“She didn’t - I believe she gave some other chap the cold shoulder when I showed up.”

“Had you ever met Beverly Miles before her death?”

“No, I wouldn’t have had any opportunity to.”

Morse appeared to write copious notes between each answer, but he shielded his pages from Jack’s eyes.

“And the following day, where were you when Miss Fisher showed up at the theatre and in my office?”

“Well, she left me sleeping, so I had lunch with her parents, and a few other guests.”

“Mind giving me their names?”  Jack relayed the suitors to Morse.

“So they can all confirm you were with them or in the house the entire day?”

“Well, no,” Jack was feeling more and more uncomfortable with this line of questioning.  “I left to take a walk at one point and send a telegram back to Melbourne.  I actually asked for my case files to be sent back here by airmail so I could deliver them to you.”

“You’d made that connection before the press did?”

“Well, Chief Inspector, if you recall, you mentioned to me yourself at the crime scene that there was a similar case.  I noticed the write-up on Virginia Brown in the paper and started putting the pieces together with the Melbourne killer.”

“Mmm, how long were you gone?”

“A few hours, probably.”

Morse raised his eyebrow again, “Which hours?”

“Probably about one to three, give or take.  She’d left me alone with her parents and all her calling suitors, so I just needed some space.”

“So then what did you do the rest of the day?”

“Well,” Jack signed, “I hate to admit it, but we did some more investigating on our own later that night in the gentlemen’s club where the first victim - Virginia Brown - worked.”

“Did you uncover anything?”

“Yes, Phryne picked up a painter’s card that was in the victim’s possession.  We were going to bring this to your attention.  Phryne actually knows the painter in question, so I don’t think she suspects him, but she thought he might be a good lead to question.”

“How did you uncover this - did you … liaise with any of the working girls?”  Morse kept his tone professional as he implied this.

“Well,” Jack sighed, this was mortifying. “Phryne posed as one of the working girls.  She went round first to ask for a job, and then I showed up posing as a John.  So, I didn’t ‘liaise’ with anyone … other than her.  She found the card when she was in the back room at the club.”

“Right,” said Morse.  “If you’ll just excuse me, I need to make a few calls, but please sit tight for a few minutes.”

The minutes ticked away while Jack sat thinking back through their conversation.  Jack certainly understood why Morse would want to be thoroughly versed on the whereabouts of his main witnesses, but Jack couldn’t help a feeling of apprehension clouding over his brain.  He thought ruefully that he couldn’t believe Phryne pushed herself into so many investigations.  Right now, he wanted nothing more than to turn over his case files to Morse and then head back to Melbourne away from this mess.

The door opened, and he heard Phryne’s best coquettish voice in the hallway.  

“Why, thank you so much constable, I’m sure you’re very busy.”  She closed the door behind her, and sat in the chair next to Jack with a heavy sigh.

“I’m not sure we’re getting through to them,” she lamented.  “They seem much more interested in questioning me about our whereabouts than they do in listening to my theories!  Did Morse agree that the Melbourne killer may be the same perpetrator?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack said thoughtfully.  “Something … seems … off.”

“In the hallway, I passed by the other witness, the one who said he saw her fall from the top of the roof.  He gave me the oddest look.”  She sat, chewing her bottom lip.  “Well, I’m not sure we can help much more here today.  Maybe we should go look into Myrtle Riley.”  She stood up again and tried the door, but it was locked.

“Hello!”  She banged on the door.  After several minutes, Morse appeared.

“Thank you both very much for coming in; you’re free to go.”

“Free to go?” Phryne said incredulously.  “Were we under arrest?”

“Oh, no.  Of course not.”  Morse gave a small, cursory smile.  “Thank you again; feel free to come to me with any other information you may possess.  But please, don’t put yourselves in danger investigating this case on your own.  We are clearly dealing with a madman.”

*****

Back in Belgravia, Phryne paced while Jack leaned rather uncomfortably against the mantle.  

“Jack, this is too close to home.  Do you think the killer could have followed you here?”

“I don't see how.  The only people who knew I was on my way to England were Miss..., I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Mr. Butler, Dr. MacMillan, Mrs. Stanley…, and the Commissioner.  And my housekeeper, Mrs. Cleary. I won't even consider that any of them would even have the time to get word spread to anyone could have been the killer.”

“Hmmm,” said Phryne, “there must be a connection that we’re not seeing.”

“There's something about this whole business that doesn't feel right.  I think I'm going to turn over my case file when it comes, and leave this one to the police.”  Jack spoke in a low voice and stared into the fire, knowing what was about to erupt.

“Jack, how can you possibly give up!  I think we should go now to see if we can find some acquaintances of Myrle Riley to interview.  There's got to be a link between all these victims and your victims in Australia, and the painter Henry Stone can't be it.  I would have known if he spent any time in Australia; he's too famous for that to go unreported.  If we just keep digging we’ll find it; I know we will.”  Phryne's voice was imploring, building in intensity as she made her case.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Please, no more investigating today.”

“Why wait?  The longer we wait, the less we’re likely to find.  You know that, Jack!  I can't believe you can be so complacent when so many women are dying!”  Her voice had worked up to a shrill, frenzied screech, and she was almost shouting directly in his ear.

Anger bubbled up inside him.  Why couldn't she let him be, just this once.  “I said not today, not for me, I'm out.”  His voice was more harsh than he intended.  He felt the flash of anger show on his face.

She instantly recoiled, looking surprised and hurt.  After the briefest of moments, her face settled into a reflection of his own anger.  “Great, another man trying to control me.”

“What?!” he asked incredulously.

She doubled down, her nostrils flaring with anger.  “And since when are you too afraid to investigate murder cases?  The Jack Robinson I know isn't a coward.”

He fixed her with a cold stare, searching for words that would wound.

“Maybe you don't really know me very well.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Well, I'm going to do what we do best.  You can just stay here.”  She tossed her head and stalked out of the room.

“Fine,” he called after her, thankful her parents didn't seem to be home.  The front door slammed.

_ Damn this woman! _

He wished he was in a place where he could throw something, but as he looked around the Fishers’ well-appointed sitting room he realized he'd just have to be content with seething.

“Sir, can I get you anything, some whisky perhaps?”  Hudson had crept soundlessly into the room in the calm following their row.

“No, thank you.”  Jack flexed a fist in suppressed frustration.  “Sorry about the racket in here.”

“Oh, sir that's nothing.  You should hear them when she gets going with the Baron.  Sometimes I'm afraid the windows will break.”

Jack knew Hudson was overstepping his role, but it helped him immeasurably to remember that this drama was probably commonplace for Phryne these days.  In fact, being cooped up with her father for so long likely had her wound up tightly, just waiting for any small spark to explode.

“You know,” Hudson said delicately, “the Baron keeps a boxing bag in the basement…”

“Really?” Jack flexed his fist again.

“I think it's very useful for him to… calm himself.”

_ Perfect _ .

“Think he'd mind if I borrowed it for a bit?”

“Not at all, sir.”

*****

Jack hadn't done anything to keep himself in training with all his travels.  Working himself into a lather, he unloaded all his stress, uncertainty, frustration, and anger into the bag.  The Baron’s boxing gloves weren't as good as the ones they had at City South, but the pain in his hands was strangely soothing.  He jabbed and punched until he was heaving and dripping with sweat.  When his muscles ached, he finally snuck upstairs to soak in the bath for a long time, having grabbed a Zane Grey he spotted in the library.  Hudson brought him a tray of sandwiches for dinner, saying the Baron and Baroness were dining out.

When darkness fell, he could hear the light patter of rain, and his annoyance with Phryne quickly changed to anxiety.  She'd been gone for hours, what if something had happened to her.  By 11:00, he sat in bed, with his book in his lap, not reading, but considering what time he should phone the police.  Then again, maybe she was so angry with him that she was seeking comfort in the arms of another man…  That thought brought a sinking feeling in his gut.

_ I was a fool.  How could I have let myself think that we could be lovers.  What a disaster.  And now she can't get away from me because I have nowhere else to go. _

He briefly considered checking himself into a hotel, and wondered what that would cost him in this city where everything was so expensive.

He was so lost in thought he almost didn't hear the door softly opening.

“Miss Fisher!”  He suddenly felt so vulnerable here, sitting in her bed, wearing pajamas.  Her eyes were red and swollen, and she was soggy from rain.  She hadn’t even stopped downstairs to take off her coat.  He was sure she was going to tell him that things were just not going to work between them.

“Did something happen?  I was worried.”  He got up to go to her, seeing how upset she looked.  But if she was crying in anticipation of breaking his heart, he knew she'd recoil if he tried to touch her.  He felt like he was moving in slow motion. 

When he reached her he slowly put his arms on her shoulders, trying to gauge her reaction.  She didn't move, then he gently started to pull her into an embrace, and she backed away.

_ This is it. _

“Jack…” she began, then stopped.  She looked very small with her wet hair deflated around her face, and her lower lip started trembling.

“It's ok,” he said, resignedly, hanging his head low, “you can say what you need to.  It's alright.”

“I've decided…,” she started again, “that I'm actually a complete ass.”  Her lip started trembling more noticeably.  Her next sentence came out choked, weepy.  “I mean, you came here all the way from Melbourne, at great expense and risk of losing your job.”

“It's ok,” he said, “those things don't matter.”

“But they do,” she said softly, shaking her head.  “You came all the way here, and I made you work on your vacation, and left you with my parents, and made you uncomfortable with a fake engagement, and then I yell at you, and boss you around, and then because that wasn't quite enough, I call you controlling and a coward.”

He was trying to read her eyes, wondering if she was going to get to the conclusion that being lovers was not something she could sustain.

“I  _ was  _ being a bit of a coward.”

“No, let me finish.  What I'm trying to say is that you’re too good for me, Jack Robinson.  You're the kindest... most patient... sexy... loyal... brave... funny... and intelligent man I've ever known, and I don't deserve you.  All night I've been sitting in a speakeasy, not touching my whisky, just thinking about what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“That I didn't know you very well.  It’s true.  I thought I knew everything about you because we've spent so much time together, but really, I don't.  I've never been to your house…”

He gave a sideways shrug, “Not much to see.”

“I don't know anything about your family.”

“Again, not much to know.”

“But everything we do is about me… I have a lot of catching up to do.  I want to know everything about you.”

Jack finally started to relax, this no longer sounded like a farewell speech.

“I thought you preferred a neverending source of mystery,” he smirked.  

It backfired.  With his attempt at humor, she first laughed, and then the floodgates opened.  She hung her head, weeping bitterly.  He now thought it was safe to reach out and hold her tightly against his chest.  He stroked her hair, and gently shushed her.  She melted against him.

“Can you forgive me for being an ass?” she finally croaked out.

“There's nothing to forgive.  I love all of you, including your temper and your teasing.  Without it, you wouldn't be the Phryne Fisher that I can't live without.  I'm sorry I wanted to quit the case today.  You were right, we have to push on.  I followed you halfway around the world, I should have followed you tonight. I will follow you to the ends of the earth if you let me, because I'm the best version of myself when you're somewhere nearby.”

She lifted her head again to look at him.  “I'm new at this, Jack.  I'm not sure that I've ever been in a real relationship before… at least not since Rene, and that was another situation altogether.  I think this is going to be bumpy at first.”

He smiled, “Consider my seatbelt fastened.”

She looked down at his lips, “I love you so much it scares me.”

His lips covered hers softly but urgently; she slid her tongue on his lips, against his teeth, and into his mouth.  He gently lifted her wet coat back from her shoulders to drop it to the floor.  She began kissing and licking down his throat, as he gathered the sides of her dress into his hands.  He lifted the dress over her head, and her wet camisole stuck to it, leaving her in her brassiere.  He caught her in a full embrace just as she started shivering; her back was cold and clammy against his hands.  

“Come to bed,”  he murmured.

“Skin to skin,” she said, unbuttoning his pajama top.  As she worked on his buttons, he reached behind her and unclasped her brassiere.  Then slid her panties down to the top of her stockings.  He waited for her to push off his top, and then she untied his drawers, shimmying them down past his hips.  He stepped out of his bottoms, and then got down on one knee, slowly unclasping her garter belt, rolling down each stocking, and finally pushing her panties to the floor.  He paused near the apex of her thighs and inhaled her scent.  He was considering doing more, but she shivered again, so he stood, and brought her with him onto the bed and under the thick covers.

They lay facing each other, on their sides, his hands vigorously rubbing her back, sides, and butt until she stopped shaking.  As soon as she was warmed, she kissed him again deeply, rolling him on his back to lay astride him, her wet sex resting against his hardness.  She again began kissing and sucking a trail down his throat, over his Adam’s apple, and down his chest.  She veered left and right to tongue his nipples, and then continued her trail down the indented line running from his chest to his navel.  His breathing sped up considerably, and when she scraped her teeth against the soft belly below his navel, he felt himself get impossibly harder.  She settled her knees between his legs, and ran her hands up and down the tops of his thighs, and then reached back to completely cover herself with the bedclothes.  

He couldn’t see her, but he felt her first firmly fist his length and give a few pumps, before he felt the hot, wet bliss of her mouth on him.  She sucked and rolled his cockhead, while pumping with her hand, for a few minutes, before he felt her take him completely in her mouth and down her throat.  She gave a few swallows, and flutters with her tongue, before withdrawing and then taking him again.  Once he felt slick with her saliva, she started rhythmically bobbing up and down, using her tongue, throat, and hands to drive him to the edge.  He wanted to hold her head, but couldn’t see her and didn’t want to force her inadvertently, so he reached up and held onto the bedframe for dear life.  He clenched his thigh muscles, close to release, and as a result, she stopped her ministrations, holding his shaft with her hand again.

“Nnnngh, Phryne…” he protested.

She lifted the covers from her face. “Enjoy it just a little longer,” she ordered, the sparkling teasing tone returned to her voice.

She held his gaze as she took him into her mouth again, gently at first, and then firmly bobbing up and down again, one hand on his shaft, the other cupping his balls, fingertips pushing against the skin behind them.  He wanted to close his eyes, but the sight of her taking him deeply in her throat was something he wanted to watch for hours.  She held his gaze the entire time, watching him watch her.  He tensed quickly, ready to explode.  His eyelids half-closed just before his release, but when he came it was violently hard, and he watched her through his lashes and she drank him up.

She crawled back up to him and nestled into his chest.  They were both breathing hard, but Jack was genuinely surprised not to be sated.  He lightly traced her breasts and fingered her nipples, hearing her breath catch in her throat.  Just that sound brought another stirring to his loins.  He reached down, and began tentatively exploring her folds, finding them soaking wet.

“So, doing that to me… does that excite you?”

“Yes,” she said simply, arching into his hand.  He dipped his head to flick and lick her nipples with his tongue, each in turn.  His fingers delved deeper to penetrate her, while the heel of his palm rubbed against her nub.  She gave a soft moan, and reached her hand down to feel him:  he was ready again.  

“I love how much you want me,” she said.  

He rolled on top of her, rubbing his cock against her clit.  “You make me feel like a damned adolescent.  It’s entirely indecent how often I want to make love to you.”

“Now, please,” she begged.

He gently pushed into her, and she took his earlobe into her mouth.  She was so wet, he almost slipped out of her in his first pass.

“Just a little more, sweetheart, just a little harder.”  He thrusted a bit more firmly, and she sighed contentedly.  The stress, and anger, and frustration, and fear of the day seemed to seep out of him as he slid in and out of her, feeling her feet clench around his backside, and feeling her internal muscles clench around him as well.  He chewed his lip to hold on for a bit longer, but eventually, he leaned on one elbow and reached a thumb down to press against her sensitive place.  They came together perfectly in unison, and then both drifted off to sleep; he was softening but still inside her, her fingers tangled in his hair.


	10. Losing Jack

“I will never tire of waking up next to you,” Phryne heard a low rumbling voice in her ear as she stirred and opened her eyes.

“Likewise,” she said, smiling.  She leaned into him for a soft, chaste kiss.

“Would it be ok if I went out for a jog?” he asked.  “I really feel like I’m getting out of training after so long… I’m feeling sluggish.”

“Of course!” she said brightly.  “Hyde Park is just north, that would be perfect.”

He kissed her once more on the forehead, pulled on some battered athletic clothes, and left her to laze about the morning.

*****

About an hour later, Phryne opened her eyes once again, felt the empty pillow next to her, and remembered that Jack had left for a jog.  As she gathered her robe about her and headed to the tub, she wondered how long his jogs usually lasted.

*****

Some time even later, Phryne pushed aside her finished breakfast plate, and flipped unenthusiastically through the paper.  She had been hoping she and Jack could reset and determine what to investigate next on their case.  She wanted to discuss her investigations into Myrtle Riley the previous evening.

_ Where could he be?  It’s probably been three hours by now. _

She sighed.  After yesterday, she knew she couldn’t start without him, but patience certainly wasn’t one of her virtues.  She started going over everything in her head once again.  All three victims had dark hair, they were all single mothers, and they all made their living due to their beauty.  She thought again about finding Henry Stone’s card in Virginia Brown’s locker.  Myrtle’s sister had confirmed that she had also sat for Henry Stone.  Clearly, the next step was to visit her old friend and artist, but finding him would probably be tricky.  She dreaded the thought of having to investigate the sweet old man for these horrific crimes…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.  She hurried to beat Hudson there.

_ Silly, why would he ring the bell?  He should know he can just come and go as he pleases. _

“Jack!” she said as she flung the door open, only to pause in confusion.

Morse and three other police officers stared up at her from the front stoop.  

“Uh, no, Miss.  Can you tell us where he is?”

“Please come in,” she said, acting in polite autopilot as she tried to work out what was happening.  “He went for a jog, but I’m afraid he got lost or something dreadful happened.”  She paused, realization creeping through.  “Are you here to tell me there’s been some sort of accident?”

“No,” said Morse, “nothing like that.  We just have some more questions to ask him about the murders.  So you expect him back soon?  When did he leave?”

“Yes, he must have left three hours ago,” she said.  “Should I take the car out and look for him?”

“No,” he said quickly.  “That’s quite alright.  Lewis and I will stay here, while my other two constables take a drive around.”  

“We can just come round the station when he’s back and freshened up.  I’m sure you’re very busy, you don’t have to wait here for him.”

Morse looked at her steadily.  “We’ll wait.”

*****

The front door finally swung open and shut.  Jack approached the dining room in such a way that he could only see Phryne perched nervously on the end of a chair, apparently not reading or eating or doing anything at all.

“I’ll never do that again, I was so lost…”

As Jack rounded the corner into the dining room, he noticed Morse and Lewis sitting opposite Phryne.

“Hello, Chief Inspector…” Jack started.

“Jack Robinson,” Lewis said, quickly getting to his feet, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Virginia Brown, Beverly Miles, Myrtle Riley, and Rose Taylor.”

Phryne also rose to her feet, emotion heavy in her throat, as Jack was led out the front door.  “Jack!  We’ll send you the best barrister we can find.  I will find out who did this.”


End file.
